


Curse Breaker

by Hallows (SomebodyElse)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: (Though he mostly bullshits his way through and follows what feels right), Also eventually, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, BAMF Dai-nana-han | Team 7 (Naruto), BAMF Harry Potter, BAMF Haruno Sakura, BAMF Uchiha Sasuke, BAMF Uzumaki Naruto, Dai-nana-han | Team 7 as Family (Naruto), Fuuinjutsu Master Harry Potter|Uchiha Sasuke, Fuuinjutsu Master Uzumaki Naruto, Gen, Good Uchiha Sasuke, Harry is Sasuke, Harry's|Sasuke's Sharingan is Weird, Haruno Sakura is a Good Friend, Inner Spirit, Kakashi actually teaches, Komainu Spirit Harry|Sasuke, Magic does Things, Magic mishap, Mokuton User Haruno Sakura, Protective Haruno Sakura, Protective Uchiha Sasuke, Protective Uzumaki Naruto, Reincarnated Harry Potter, Reincarnation, Team as Family, The Golden Trio, Uchiha Sasuke is a Good Friend, Uzumaki Naruto is a Good Friend, eventually, golden trio feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomebodyElse/pseuds/Hallows
Summary: Harry wakes up disoriented, in a world that is both unfamiliar and familiar, feeling both home and lost. Orphaned anew, hailed as a miraculous survivor- again- all he wants to do is to find stable footing and deal with unforseen- unwanted- trauma of once again witnessing his family's death. Grimly resigned to train to become a killer if only be able to defend himself, he never expected to truly fit in among his new peers.He should have know nothing ever goes the way he thinks it would.-----Post 3rd Task of Triwizard Tournament, Reincarnation fic where Harry wakes up in Sasuke's body roughly a week after the Uchiha Massacre.
Relationships: Dai-nana-han | Team 7 & Hatake Kakashi, Haruno Sakura & Harry Potter & Uzumaki Naruto, Haruno Sakura & Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Uchiha Sasuke & Ron Weasley
Comments: 55
Kudos: 585
Collections: Naruto Crossovers





	1. Hidden in Leaves

**Author's Note:**

> Been a while since I dared to write a story and I really don't know how often I will update this one. Pretty low on my priority list because of many responsibilities I have IRL, and honestly feeling rusty as the first chapter doesnt feel quite right. Take with grain of salt, don't expect anything too new.

Chapter 1: Hidden in Leaves

_The world fell away in swirl of dull colours, a nauseating mix of sensations and sounds. But the feeling was brief- the whirlpool fading, and reality snapped into sharper focus as his body hit the ground hard._

_For split of a second, there was no sound, he was lost in the void of existence- and all he felt was the ache and soreness of his beaten body, jarred from the impact; all he smelt the wet grass and mud, while clutching the handle of the cup in one hand, and the cool wrist of Cedric’s in another. His fingers were freezing- he really couldn’t feel them. He saw nothing- his eyes were closed._

_Then the sound came back- impossibly loud; music and cheers that slowly screeched into something distorted, celebration turning to yells and screams._

_He didn’t move- he continued to laid still, his breathing shallow, eyes remaining closed- and only looked when he felt his body turned around by someone’s hands, hazy green searching out blue behind gold rimmed glasses._

_“He’s back. Voldemort is back.”_

—X—

Harry opened his eyes.

Immediately, he was hit with the feeling that something was... well, not exactly wrong, but at least different. He was comfortable, for one- physically, he felt fine; he didn’t hurt, and nothing felt broken. Mentally... he... remembered?- and at the same time, he felt like he forgot something.

His memories were hazy- his thoughts refused to focus on what had happened, leaving him only with the faintest impressions of grief and despair, and creeping, lingering sense of horror. Feeling that only amplified, as he took in the room he woke up in.

It was dark- but even with the veil of the night, it took Harry only single heartbeat to realize he was not in the Hogwarts Infirmary, as he had first expected. And yet, as unfamiliar as the room made itself out to be, he didn’t _feel_ in danger. He was in a hospital- Harry was sure of that. And yet, he _has never been_ in a hospital before- but no, his mind was telling him this was a hospital, the white walls and soft bed a familiar sight, as he had visited room like this before when one of his cousins got hurt-

His thought trailed off.

Harry didn’t have _cousins_. And he never visited Dudley in a hospital.

But that thought felt somehow _wrong_ as well- and as he stared blankly at the ceiling, he felt the grief and despair intensify, memories still refusing the come- but the boy was left with a certainty that something terrible had happened.

Anger and rage flickered briefly as he numbly stared ahead, breathing slow- but faded quickly, leaving only exhaustion behind.

He felt... worn. Faded. Not wholly present.

Something was going on- what could he remember...?

His brow furrowed gently as he blinked his eyes (they burned; he had been staring without blinking for a too long)- but aside of faint feeling of ‘terribleness’- and he let out a shuddering breath, as he remembered pain and _screams_ , and unseeing eyes and _blood, so much blood_ -

Harry choked on his spit and seized in the bed, twisting and rolling over until he was pressing his face into the pillow- and his eyes _burned_. The memories slipped from him like fine mist, but somehow, after them, he felt even _worse_ , and though he squeezed his eyes shut _hard_ , all he could see was red _red **red**_ -

The boy stayed like that, curled in a tight ball, feeling small and forgotten, for what was seemed like eternity. The small window- that he hadn’t noticed before- slowly let in more and more light, the darkness lightening to grey and then to warm orange and gold- and Harry, stiff from the position and with heavy aching heart, turned his attention to that spectacle- like a sunflower, desperate to chase away the frost and cold settling around his heart.

He could hear birds starting to sing outside, and he knew the village ( _what village?_ ) was waking up.

The feeling of being small remained, but- even thought he couldn’t see much through the window, because of the brightness and lingering mist- thanks to the sunlight, thanks to the orange and gold, the ice thawed out. The crimson that haunted his mind slowly faded. Not completely gone, but- not as overwhelming. Manageable. For now.

Warmth was spreading through his limbs and joints- through his small- _too small_ \- fingers and toes. Grief remained- low, burning embers of it, not crippling, but not gone- as if the sunrise seemed to signal some sort of finality, end of an age and start of a new one.

Harry didn’t understand it- but to be honest, he didn’t understand many things right now.

He felt like he was forgetting something- and that was a bit worrying, especially as- as the mist outside cleared- he was looking over rooftops of a familiar-unfamiliar place, feeling at home but feeling lost- and yet the realization wasn’t as disconcerting as finding out he- himself- was just _different_.

Again, not wrong- and wasn’t that curious, this lack of greater alarm?- but just... not the same. The feeling of being small wasn’t just something his mind conjured- he _was_ smaller, arms and legs shorter, feeling... young. Childish.

He could see dark hair at the corner of his eyes- and that _was_ familiar- but the world around him was _sharp_ , in focus.

Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses though.

After what seemed like eternity, he turned away from the window, and- bracing his shaking hands on the mattress of the bed- he sat up. Looking around the room brought nothing new, however- no hints of where he was, how he got there, _why_ was he here in the first place.

Why was he alone.

His chest throbbed at that- and the terrible certainty was back, and Harry felt tremble overtake his body, still looking around the unfamiliar-familiar room-

He was _alone_. There is no-one coming- no-one that matters to _him_ , anyway.

Confused keen escaped him, followed by stifled sob- he _knew_ it to be truth, but he didn’t _understand why_.

Breathing hard, he put his – _small!!_ \- hands to his eyes, squeezing them shut and pressing at them hard, willing the tears away. It was confusing urge- Harry hardly ever cried, hadn’t for years- and yet that somehow felt false, something whispering _liar, just last week you cried because your mother didn’t put tomatoes into your bento_ \- and thinking about his mother caused the grief to spike up sharply, and thinking about his _mother_ caused the confusion to spike up as well, because Harry was an _orphan_. His parents were dead for years- but no, his parents were _alive_ -

Grief and despair seized him hard- so much that he forgot to breathe and he crumpled in the bed, bowing over and pressing his face into his knees-

No. His parents were dead. He was alone.

He breathed hard, exhausted, letting everything fade away as he eased the pressure on his eyes and just counted. One. Breathe in. Two. Breath out.

After a minute, he straightened out once more, opening his eyes to look around the room again. There was nothing that would hint at anything that would help him find out about what was going on. The table beside him was bare- the glass vase that, he supposed, was there for visitors to put flowers in, was empty.

It made everything seem grimmer, somehow.

But in his inspection he finaly noticed two doors. One, obviously, lead out of the room. The other- left open with a small crack- could possibly lead into the bathroom- and Harry, after a slow blink, figured that washing his face could help, the water hopefully waking him up more, helping him think clearer. He swallowed- his was throat dry. A drink wouldn’t be amiss as well.

Getting from the bed was- disorienting. His body was- _small_. He realized that before, of course, in an offhand way, but after finally moving- slowly getting from the bed, realizing that it came up to his waist and not his knees- well. Everything felt too big- but at the same time, not at all. He had no problem moving around, used to this size, clearly- but _how_?

Harry has never been a large boy- definitely smaller than Dudley, and definitely shorter than many of his classmates- but even then, he wasn’t _that_ scrawny. Average in size- no thanks to his diet at the Dursleys- but not stunted in any way, so this experience made _no sense_ at all.

Padding slowly over to the door- his feet were bare and that made him feel even _smaller_ , and _that_ actually caused annoyance to spark in him as he wasn’t a _child_ \- he nudged it open, nodding to himself when he found the bathroom as he hoped he would. The design of the tap and sink seemed a bit weird- but he chalked it to being used to the Victorian era style the Hogwarts possessed, so he just shrugged it off, reaching to let the water flow.

He caught some in his cupped hands, bringing the mouthful to his lips- and as he swallowed, he realized just how _thirsty_ he was. Faster this time, he let the water gather in his palms again, closing his eyes as he drank, sip after sip, soothing his dry scratchy throat and parched lips, before splashing the last gathered amount on his face, rubbing it.

The cool water had him shudder, and didn’t really help him remember- _disappointing_ \- but he felt... better, a bit. Fresher. Slowly, by feeling, he turned off the running water before sighing and opening his eyes staring forward.

And then just continued staring.

Because a complete _stranger_ was staring at him from the mirror’s reflection.

Incredulousness and bit of hysteria entered his mind, as he took in the sight of the elven looking _child_ staring at him wide-eyed from the glass surface; skin too pale and eyes too dark (even though Harry could see they weren’t grey as he first thought but shadowed, bottle green, as if someone took his own eyes and simply turned them a shape darker).

The most disconcerting wasn’t the fact he was occupying body of a stranger, however– it was the fact the lightning bolt curse scar, a prominent feature that was with him as long as he could remember, was _gone_.

He raised his hand to rub the unblemished skin on his forehead- the boy in the mirror obviously doing the same. He blinked- the boy did as well- and let the hand fall, and then just continued staring. Looking longer helped the shock fade a bit, and as Harry observed, he realized it wasn’t- the face staring at him wasn’t completely _unfamiliar_. The shape of his eyes were _his_ , like they always has been- but usually hidden behind his thick rimmed glasses, Harry just wasn’t used to paying that big of an attention to them. Shape of his eyebrows also remained the same- even if they seemed somehow neater. Squinting hard at the child’s face in the mirror, ignoring the wrong eye colour and the lack of glasses and scar- it was clear, actually, that the boy in the reflection wasn’t stranger at all.

And it took a second for Harry to realize that the difference was that the boy in the mirror looked _cared for_.

Opposite to what Harry came to expect from the Dursleys. Humourlessly, he thought it was like comparing a stray cat to well groomed one- night and day difference.

He remained at the mirror for who know how long, just staring and prodding, brushing tiny smooth fingertips over even smoother skin. There were no scars, no blemishes- no calluses on his hands from unwanted labour, no healed cuts on his arms from dish washing accidents. But there was muscle, and coiled strength that Harry could feel inside them- and wasn’t that strange, as he was sure the boy was stronger than Harry could ever hope be at the age of fourteen. He wondered at that- now staring at his arm where he rubbed at his skin- as, somehow, he doubted that just being well fed would give him this sort of edge. It felt... intentional. More refined.

(And wasn’t it _odd_ , how quickly he became comfortable in the boy’s body- thinking of it as _his_ and not the boy’s- and Harry wondered if the boy in the mirror had always been him, even thought this didn’t make any sense at all. Harry was... Harry. A wizard, from England. But the village- _and how sure he was it was a village, and not a town_ \- didn’t look to be from the United Kingdom at all.)

His musing was interrupted by the sound of the exit door opening, stiffening when he hear a gasp. Before he could do as much as turn around to face the room, the doorway to the bathroom was blocked by woman dressed in, what Harry could only assume, was a hospital uniform- though it was nothing like he had seen on the TV (on the rare occasion he caught sight of it), nor it was anything like Madam Pomfrey wore. But still, there was no feeling of unfamiliarity- meaning that Harry had seen this uniform before, and didn’t that add to the mystery?

He was only able to blink as the woman- plain looking, entirely forgettable- clearly breathed a sigh of relief, before her gaze gained bit of sternness mixed with worry, putting her hands on her hips.

“Uchiha-kun! Don’t wander around like that! Back to the bed with you- you’ve been asleep for a very long time, you are still weakened!”

She wasn’t speaking English. But somehow, Harry understood her _perfectly_. That was of no importance, however- nor was the absolute _shit_ of a bedside manner the nurse clearly possessed, though Harry had to struggle to keep the indignation and anger down, because how _dare_ this lady scold him for just wanting to drink- because _what the hell_ did she mean, “asleep for a long time”?

The name, though- _Uchiha_. It was familiar. It was dear to him. It was _his_ \- but being addressed as such burned, seared through him, felt like serrated knife cutting at his chest- the ice chilled away in his heart and an image of a red white fan- _uchiwa_ , his mind whispered- flashed through his mind. Broken, _cracked_ , the white sullied with the dark crimson of _blood_.

Frenzied, he pushed the image away, and silently made his way around the nurse back towards the bed, ignoring her huff as he climbed in. The puzzle was still incomplete- Uchiha, he was an _Uchiha_ \- but it felt like step in the right direction, as with the name came another.

 _Konoha_. He was in Konoha. That was the name of the village.

This was the Konoha hospital. And Harry- _Sasuke_ , that was his name, wasn’t it?- was an Uchiha, part of an Uchiha Clan.

“Uchiha-kun?”

Harry ( _Sasuke_?) blinked and turned towards the woman, realizing he had been staring at nothing, and the nurse was watching him again, this time with more worry- and Harry felt another angry spike, because _what did she want_ , he wanted her to _go away_ -

Before he could formulate his wish, the door to his room opened _again_ \- but this time it was an older man that walked in, dressed in long robe with red flames adorning the hem of them- and there was a pause, as the newcomer- _Hokage_ \- took in the other two occupants in the room and quirked one eyebrow.

Harry just stared silently- sense of foreboding starting to crawl up his back and forming a knot in his throat, because the _awful_ certainty reared its head again, and now he was _remembering things_ \- but then he was distracted by the nurse’s cheeks reddening as she made a hasty bow.

“H-Hokage-sama!”

“I instructed no-one was to enter this room without my say so.” The man’s words were soft but grim, and the nurse paled, looking stricken, bowing even lower.

“I- apologies, Hokage-sama, I wasn’t made aware-!”

“Leave us, please.”

Harry could only watch as the woman choked back whatever words she wanted to add and then made a hasty exit. He forced down a snort of dark amusement. But any merriment soon faded when he took in the Hokage’s- _village leader, leader of Konoha_ \- weary and saddened face.

And he knew- knew with the _certainty_ that came to him at the beginning- that returned with the slowly flickering remembrance of his name- _Uchiha Sasuke, student of the Konoha Academy, seven years old, second son to Uchiha Clan leader, training to be ninja, has cousins, has mother- has brother- Itachi **Itachi bloodBLOODMURDERERKIN-S-L-A-Y-E-R-**_

“-suke!”

Harry cried in pain and felt the coppery taste filling his mouth, realizing he was yanking hard at his hair while he bit the side of his cheek as if to force himself to stop wailing. Then he realized the old man- Hokage- was grasping his wrists in gentle but firm hold, his hands huge and wrinkled against Harry’s but warm- warm like the sunrise, like the gold-orange- and the boy opened his eyes to look at him, vision swimming from tears that filled them and rolled down his cheeks and _nothing made sense_.

“They are dead,” he gasped, choking on a sob, even as he had no idea who were _they_ “They are dead, _they are dead_ -“

“Yes,” the Hokage, the village leader, the tired, tired old man said heavily “They are.”

The honesty shocked him into silence, the confirmation staunching the flow of tears. He breathed hard, just looking at the man, while the Hokage used the moment to gently pry away the boy’s hands from Harry’s hair, and carefully placed them down by Harry’s sides.

“...He killed them,” the boy whispered, the words coming as if from a dream, memory of a long haired boy- older than him- flashing through his mind. Affection so deep it made him shudder burned in his heart- the burning turning painful as grief, disbelief and deep, searing betrayal followed. _Itachi. His brother._ “I-Itachi. He- killed them. He- he k-killed them.”

And he _did_ something. Harry now _‘remembered’_ \- or more likely, Sasuke started remembering. But Harry was hundred percent sure _he_ was Sasuke- or, most likely, Sasuke was him. So _who_ remembered _what_?

“Yes,” the Hokage continued quietly “He did.”

Neither spoke for a while, which suited Harry just fine. He was at loss; confused, juggling two sets of memories that felt his but different, just staring down at the blanket of his bed. He realized he didn’t forget, as dumb as it sounded- he just felt... more like Harry, than Sasuke, at the moment. Felt that way ever since he woke up, really.

Sasuke’s memories were there- they felt real, they felt his, and maybe that was why everything felt familiar and _safe_ -

But Itachi- Sasuke’s brother, _Harry’s_ brother- did _something_. He did something that caused Harry to- to appear? Awake? Harry remained, strong and at the forward in his- brain, mind?- and Sasuke...

Sasuke faded.

“Sasuke-kun.” The Hokage spoke again and Harry looked up, feeling disturbed and unnerved, unsure how he _should_ feel. He felt like _himself_. And the memories from before- _before_. They- felt his. Felt like him. But...

Dulled, somehow. And Harry was unsure if he should be grateful for that or not. He said nothing to the man even as the old man paused, expecting him to do so. The Hokage, realizing he won’t speak, sighed and continued.

“Your clan grounds- your home- has been repaired, and cleaned. You have been asleep for five days. I would like you to stay at the hospital for at least two more. Your instructors at the Academy has been notified of your... situation, and you’ve been excused for a month. You don’t have to fear for your grades.”

Repaired. Cleaned. Speaking of school as if nothing happened. Impersonal and down to business- and were it any other time, Harry would have just nodded but _this??_

Indignation, hurt and anger roared inside him- because, Harry’s _-Sasuke’s-_ family has been _murdered_. His clan had over hundred people. And they were all dead. And Harry- _Sasuke_ at the time- saw it with his own eyes.

And yet- _and yet_ -!

The Hokage spoke about _cleaning_ , and _repairing_ , as if it was just a matter of a busted water pipe, as if it was just few sodden planks and not _rivers of blood_ causing blemish on the clan grounds-!

And Harry closed his eyes, bowing his head so he didn’t have to look at the man.

His feelings were still mix of confusion and certainty. Anger and despair warred inside him at the casual way the village leader brushed the massacre of hundreds of people aside. But he swallowed any outburst, pushed it down and just exhaled- tired, and sad and just so, so lonely- he wanted the man to leave.

He wanted his friends. He wanted Ron and Hermione _so so bad_.

But they weren’t here. Harry wasn’t in England. He was pretty unsure if he was anywhere near it, honestly.

He had no wand- he wished he had his wand, because he felt naked without it and because then, at least, _something_ would make sense.

It came down to the certainty- Harry was Uchiha Sasuke, and his whole family had just been murdered (irony, to become an orphan once again). Itachi- and that name felt _sour_ on his tongue, and Harry had _never_ felt such hatred towards anyone, not even towards Voldemort- murdered his whole family. His own brother. He did something with his sharingan- _sharingan was Uchiha’s heritage, special power, what the hell_ \- and now Harry was here.

Sasuke would have exploded at the old man for disrespecting his dead clan- but Harry wasn’t Sasuke anymore. Harry could understand the awkwardness of the old man, trying to comfort a kid that wasn’t his own and that he didn’t know, while at the same time trying to put the village back together from this mess.

Didn’t mean he had to like it.

But he still said nothing, and heard the Hokage sigh second time- only closed his eyes tighter when he felt the man’s wrinkled hand pat him gently on his head. It was- something, at least. The anger in his heart lessened and only sadness remained, causing tears again to roll down his cheeks. Small part of him felt ridiculous, mourning people he never met, mourning life he, technically, never lived- even though he _did_. He remembered his parents- Sasuke’s parents- with sort of distant numbness, their death horrific and terrifying- but the loss not as strong as he felt it should have been. And he once again felt disturbed, because he just wasn’t sure what to think, knew he was Sasuke and Sasuke was him- but the pain didn’t feel real, not really.

(But how _painful_ should _pain_ be?)

But there was one thing he was sure of.

“...I don’t want to return there,” he whispered, hoarse and soft, the man’s hand stilling on his head- and Harry’s stomach dropped, churned with nausea, because surely he won’t deny him this, surely..? “I don’t want to _live_ there.”

“You won’t,” the Hokage assured him and Harry nearly wept with relief- he didn’t trust the man a whole lot, his instinct regarding him as suspicious, but he _trusted this_. “I will have apartment rented in your name. With your permission, I will come in two days to escort you there.”

Harry simply nodded, not moving as the hand left his head, not wanting to look up and break the illusion of warmth and affection. There was something decidedly Dumbledore-like in the way the Hokage spoke- but that’s as far as the similarities went.

He moved to lie down when he heard the man get up, turning towards the window and thus turning is back on the exit door, and, conveniently, at the old man. The day was in full swing now- the sunlight cheerful and warm, contradiction towards anything Harry felt right now. He didn’t react when the Hokage left the room, too exhausted to really give a damn.

He spent the rest of the day simply staring out, watching shadows move across the room as the sun went and set. When a nurse- different one- brought him food, he barely glanced at it- before turning it his full attention. There was bowl filled with broth and noodles, and pair of chopsticks.

Sasuke had been familiar with this dish, and always made face when his mother made it.

Harry had never seen it in his life. But as he reached towards the bowl and the wooden untensils, his grip was experienced as he adjusted them in his hand and then slowly brought mouthful of noodles to his lips.

He chewed once. Stilled.

It was salty, and the spices were too overwhelming- but the broth was rich and filling, and in the same way the sunshine warmed him with its orange-gold, so did the noodles.

It was the most comforting thing he had since he woke up, and he choked as tears spilled from his eyes, gripping the chopsticks hard in his hand while slapping his other hand over his eyes with the effort to staunch the flow. His stomach grumbled, and subconsciously, blindly, Harry brought another mouthful to his lips, slurping and chewing.

It was good.

—X—

Sleep came easy for him that night, and though Harry dreaded nightmares, he remembered nothing when he woke up the next day. No-one came to check on him, which- while serving him just fine- seemed a bit negligent, seeing he was, technically, just seven years old.

The privacy gave him at least enough time to think somewhat about his situation, which was- well, not great.

Feeling like broken record, and picking idly at the onigiri that had been left for him to eat in the morning, he once again thought about what he was and wasn’t feeling.

He was Harry Potter. He was Uchiha Sasuke. Harry had hard time remembering what he did before he woke up as Sasuke, but he was sure he had been part of a tournament. What tournament? For what purpose? He had no idea- and didn’t that _suck_ , because this whole deal seemed like some sort of freak magical accident- only, he wasn’t _sure._

Uchiha Sasuke was no wizard- he studied to be ninja, instead. And that, to Harry’s mind, seemed like some sort of a _joke_ , but it was actually very much real. He remembered learning about ninjas before Hogwarts, from a book someone left in a bargain bin, before aunt Petunia forced him to drop it and dragged him away. He rembered three things, really- ninjas were supposed to be stealthy, masters of martial arts, and _deadly._

Nothing in Sasuke’s memories suggested otherwise- only, Harry was pretty sure he wasn’t in Japan. He wasn’t even sure the language he spoke was Japanese- but honestly, Harry had no idea what Japanese sounds like or looks like, so what does he know.

Were Sasuke in his place right now- and Harry had no trouble getting feel for the boys thoughts, as they were _his_ thoughts- he would have sword revenge and would wanted to go after- after _that man_.

But Harry wasn’t Sasuke. And if he was perfectly honest, he didn’t find the idea of becoming a _killer_ attractive at all.

(Killing a basilisk is one thing. Killing a human is another. He had suffered many nights of nightmares after Quirrell’s death and that had been self defence- he didn’t want to imagine killing anyone _on purpose_ )

But he hated being defenceless even less. He didn’t have his wand; as far as he knew so far, he didn’t have magic. Sasuke’s memories offered no hints of any accidents happening- but honestly, his clan had freaky eyes and could breath fire, so what is considered magic, really?

Itachi- the murdering _weasel_ \- clearly wanted Sasuke to go barrelling after him, but Harry already experienced the need for revenge once- where he attempted and thankfully failed to kill Sirius- and he didn’t need to be a genius to know that revenge would be a bad idea.

He _didn’t_ want to be a killer- it’s not like he had to continue training to be a ninja, there had been plenty of Uchihas who were civilians, store owners, crafters- but he didn’t want to be _helpless._ Besides, the fear of _the man_ returning was too great right now- and Harry struggled to keep it down, but couldn’t.

In his musing, he wondered if it was blessing or a curse. Repeat of his examination in the mirror again convinced him that Sasuke was him and vice versa- only, Sasuke hadn’t remembered anything from Harry’s life until Itachi’s attack.

Harry had always been good at suppressing things he didn’t want to deal with- or, he had always been used to deal with things that would bring others to their knees.

This was different, however- and he couldn’t help but feel guilty, because, despite the sense of loss, despite the pain and grief and betrayal- it felt like something that happened years ago, when he wasn’t actively thinking about it. He still didn’t want to step a foot in that house- Sasuke’s house, his house- but it didn’t feel _as bad_ as it could be.

He wondered what was wrong with him. He wondered if any of the loss he feels is his. If the bonds that were severed were his.

It brought him back to the question of existence- was he really Sasuke, or was Harry somehow just possessing the boy?

But at the end of the day, tossing and turning in the bed, staring dumbly into another bowl of noodles, he decided it didn’t matter. He tried some of the meditation techniques he had been taught by his father, and he had felt completely and utterly himself in his mind. If Sasuke had been different person, he clearly wasn’t there anymore. And Harry felt as comfortable in this body as he felt in his last.

Besides- and this came to him when the day turned to dusk, and dusk to night again- who could tell a difference, really? Harry had no-one. Sasuke lost everyone, and any friends he had has been other Uchihas, since anyone else seemed beneath him at the time. If Harry suddenly started behaving out of the norm, everyone would chalk it to trauma anyway.

It was not comforting thought- and in the privacy of his room, Harry shed a tear as he pushed everything deep deep down, refusing to deal with it at the moment. Tomorrow was a new day, and with it, came release from the hospital.

Harry dreaded it. Right now, part of his still felt like this was all a dream, some potion induced hallucination- but he knew this was real. And being brought outside would feel like sealing the reality.

Harry didn’t know what the future would bring. And that terrified him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14/7/2020 - Minor edits done, nothing major


	2. Lord of the Pyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp. This chapter... ran away a lot XD;  
> I made a list of sorts of things and situations I wanted in the chapter, and when it was done its just... was like that pff.  
> Don't get much used to it lol.

Chapter 2: Lord of the Pyre

_There was palpable excitement in the air, even as it was way past the time normal, responsible people went to bed. He could swear he could feel it- like low humming or buzzing, as if the whole castle was sitting on the edge of the seat in anticipation, ready for what tomorrow will bring._

_And Harry had to admit he shared a little bit in that, though- mostly- he just felt too nervous to sleep._

_Oh, he tried- he did his best to join the throng of those already mentioned ‘normal, responsible people’, and went to bed before nine, made sure to take nice long shower, brush his teeth, attempted to comb his hair, and laid down on his comfortable mattress, sighing in delight at the softness. Only, sleep wouldn’t come._

_He tossed and turned for good hour- and then for another, after the other boys joined him in the dormitories, and then gave it up as bad job, resigned to spending few more hours staring into the common room fire. He had hoped the crackling and flicking of the flames would lull him into drowsiness- but if numbness was all he would get for his efforts, he supposed he should be satisfied with what little he can manage._

_He had been so determined to scry the secrets of the universe from the burning embers that he nearly didn’t notice he was about to have company- but as Ron flopped himself into the armchair next to him with a dissatisfied groan, and Hermione joined Harry on the couch in the next second after- her realized they didn’t really made any effort at trying to sneak up on him. Still, the suddenness of their presence made him flinch a little, before he shot a guilty look in their direction._

_He was pretty sure why they were there, awake after midnight._

_Ron saw him looking and rolled his eyes, half-heartedly kicking at his shin- and Harry tucked his legs away because even half-hearted kick with those bony feet_ hurt _\- before the lanky boy seemed to melt over the whole surface of the chair._

_“Just can’t sleep either, you wanker. Also heard you tossin’.”_

_“I’m just a bit worried,” Hermione admitted her two cents “I mean- I know we prepared, but still; it could be anything in the maze, and oh, I just hope we haven’t forgot anything-“_

_“I’m,” Harry suddenly spoke, his voice louder than he meant to. He flushed when they immediately paid him their whole attention, but cleared his throat and continued in quieter tone. “I’m... a bit afraid.”_

_It was hard for him to admit- in his good memory (which isn’t saying much), he usually keeps his worry and fear to himself- something both Ron and Hermione knew, and he_ knew _they_ knew _, so he just bowed his head and hunched his shoulders, when they seemed to lean towards him automatically, concerned._

_“Mate, you’d be an idiot if you weren’t,” Ron told him seriously, frowning when the dark-haired boy just gave a jerky nod. “Hey- it’s cool though. If anyone can get three seventh years look dumb in front of the whole school, it’s you.”_

_Harry chuckled while Hermione frowned at the other boy disapprovingly “You know, I could still end up being the idiot.”_

_“But an alive idiot,” Ron continued encouragingly, which had the other boy roll his eyes._

_“Thanks Ron.”_

_“I am a bit afraid too,” Hermione admitted softly, the mood turning a bit sombre again, the girl taking Harry’s hand gently “But- I have utmost faith in you. Ron is right- as unbelievable as it is-“ (“Now that’s just mean,” the mentioned boy complains and gives a crooked grin when Harry chuckles again) “-You have a knack to pull off near impossible things. I think- and I am saying this honestly- you have pretty good chance at winning this, Harry.”_

_“I don’t know- I don’t really care about winning.” Harry sighed, rubbing his tired eyes._

_“Yeah, but if anyone could win this, it would be you.” Ron told him cheerfully, finally kicking his shin to which Harry hissed a curse and jumped in seat._

_“Boys,” Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes, before looking at the dark haired boy with warmth in her eyes. “Whatever happens, you are not alone Harry.”_

_“We got your back, mate,” Ron’s grin softened into something more meaningful, and Harry felt his throat constrict a bit at the sight of it._

_“...Promise?”_

_He hadn’t meant to ask that- it just slipped out. But even as their eyes widened at the soft, fragile plea, they didn’t give him chance to pull back into himself._

_Hermione’s grip on his hand got firmer, her body pressing to his- while Ron got up and sat up at the other side next to him, grasping his free forearm and squeezing it just as well, grounding him._

_“It’s a promise.”_

_“You can count on us.”_

—X—

Despite the cheerful sunlight outside accompanied by bird song, Harry himself felt like moving through molasses, each action and gesture painfully slow and lifeless. There was still threat of ice encompassing his whole being; while lacking nightmares, each waking felt like trying to drag himself up from the depth of an ocean, drowning along the way. He always resurfaced- he _always_ did- but it left him drained even before the day started, shivering, cold and bare before the world.

Only the sunlight – _gold and orange_ \- and the too salty broth with noodles seemed to be the only thing to warm him up and get him moving.

But the noodles were more of an afternoon comfort, and in the morning, the sunlight took its time to thaw him out. Still, Harry was used to working in less than stellar conditions. While it never got this bad at the Dursleys, it felt almost similar when he was forced to get up at the crack of the dawn to work in the garden- so if he could do it then, why not now.

His lack of enthusiasm had nothing to do with the sunlight though; it was the fact that today was the last day of his hospital stay, and the Hokage would come soon to pick him up.

And Harry both wanted to get out (iced over or not, the room was _bare_ and thus mind numbingly _boring_ ), he also didn’t want to join the outside world. But he knew he couldn’t prolong it when after his breakfast (rice and eggs, no _tomatoes_ , and Harry kinda misses those despite never paying them that much attention while he has been his ‘ _wizarding’_ self) a nurse (male one this time) brought him change of clothes to put on, with brief comment to expect the Old Man within half an hour.

And nothing after that once again. And maybe Harry was looking a bit too much into it- but he feels the way he is being handled... doesn’t exactly fit the norm. No detective asking him to recount what happened, not doctor to come check his health and decide if he was well enough to leave. No doctor of- any kind. Like, mental, mind kind.

Harry’s gut curled and twisted at the idea of seeing some sort of- mind healer. Uncle Vernon always had lot of words to say about, who he considered, ‘shrinks’, and even more on the matter of ‘nutcases’. And to be perfectly honest, Harry really didn’t want to talk to _anyone_ about what happened. He just- he just wanted to be left alone and he will deal with it, like he is used to deal with unpleasant things.

No-one needed to check on him after Quirrell and he did okay, so there really wasn’t need for it.

(Also his mind was turning towards someone named _Yamanaka_ and from what he remembered, he didn’t want _anyone_ like that near his head.)

The clothes he received were plain brown, even though the shorts were a shade darker. Plain brown like earth- Konoha colours, he couldn’t help but think. (He kinda missed the gold of his robes. After _that_ _night_ though... he wasn’t sure if he missed the red.) They were also completely bare of any Uchiha fan- bare like the room he had been locked in, numb like his own mind. But in this case, he was indecisive if it was good or bad thing.

Part of him reared in indignation at the lack of the symbol- he was an Uchiha, now the last (Weasel didn’t count), and it was slight against his family for them to trying to separate him from his identity so soon, with such insulting oversight. On the other hand...

He couldn’t forget the red and white fan, cracked and broken, tarnished with blood. The bodies- oh god _the bodies_ \- the white of the symbol glaring at him from their backs. He din’t- he couldn’t wear it. Not today. Not just yet.

Maybe never.

He felt like a coward, dressing himself in earth’s colours, feeling once again like an imposter, because he was sure Sasuke wouldn’t hesitate to wear his clan symbol proudly; Sasuke would rage and roar at the lack of them on these clothes, would raise hell and raze the village- or attempt to- until someone brought him what he wants-

But Harry couldn’t bear the thought of wearing them.

He felt like the Uchiha wouldn’t want someone like him in their clan anyway.

Despite dressing slowly, it was still too fast for his tastes; it left him once again go slowly barking mad in the bare, boring room, and soon enough chased him into the bathroom again, because there, at least, he could look at something more than just _white_.

He peered at his reflection, similarly like he did the first time- and still looked ridiculously adorable, he noticed with mild annoyance- he tried to remember his parents, _Sasuke’s_ parents, and tried to look for their features in the delicate chin and almond eyes, but-

He was unsuccessful. He didn’t know if it was for lack of trying- or simply for lack of any interest from _before_ (Sasuke barely spent time before mirror besides when brushing his teeth, and certainly didn’t care that much about his looks before keeping his hair _just right_ ) but he just... couldn’t see them.

Instead of Mikoto, he saw Lily in the shape of his eyes, in the daintiness of his chin. Saw James in the unruliness of his hair and in the sharpness of his jaw, not Fugaku. And it was- it was _odd_ , because Lily looked nothing like Mikoto, and James looked nothing like Fugaku, and yet here Harry was, here _Sasuke_ was, both boys near identical in looks, close enough to be twins, but with different parents.

And while great part of Harry felt guilty, part of him felt- glad. He _wanted_ to be Lily’s and James’ son. Wanted to represent their bravery, their sacrifice- and wasn’t that _awful_ , to dismiss his other parents so easily?

He turned away from the reflection with a sharp shake of his head, bile burning at the back of his throat, disgust at himself constricting in his chest. He hated this; he didn’t ask for this, for _none_ of this. Because the cruel, unfortunate truth was that he _loved_ his parents. He loved both set of them. But as the wizard-turned-ninja-in-training... Lily and James just were there first.

As if he practiced it, the door to his room opened just as Harry walked out of the bathroom (it turned out that he really preferred to look at _white_ instead of anything else), and the Hokage walked in with nearly no sound, turning kindly smile at the young boy staring up at him.

( _Didn’t even had the manners to knock_ , Harry couldn’t help but think sourly, and his distrust towards the man _throbbed_ )

“Ready to go, Sasuke-kun?” the man didn’t even falter at the numb stare the boy gave him, even going so far as offering him a hand to hold on to- and Harry, feeling irrationally angry but not wholly himself to argue himself out of anything, reached for it and curled his hand around the wrinkled fingers.

(He reasoned it would be easier to keep eye on where the man was leading him. It had nothing to do with the fact his hand was warm.)

The Hokage’s smile widened, turning grandfatherly. Harry- reminded of Dumbledore and kinda missing the Headmaster as well- looked sullenly at the ground, shuffling his sandaled foot. Inwardly he pulled a face when the Old Man attempted, what was supposed to be, encouraging squeeze (It felt _wrong_ and his heart _ached_ and he didn’t know why) but didn’t protest as the man started to lead him silently out of the room and down the near empty hallway of the hospital.

It was still early in the morning so there weren’t many patients- but it was just _enough_ of an ordeal with the staff.

Because they- as Harry had dreaded the night before and hated to be proved true- they _stared_.

Oh they tried their best to keep it secret, but Harry was sensitive to staring- always has been ever since he returned to wizarding world. He could see them catching sight of him, looking for an eternal second- before sharply turning away, pretending they weren’t looking- and Harry _hated_ it.

And they _whispered_. It was a murmur- seemingly a cough here, clearing of throat there, and he couldn’t really understand what they were saying- and he realized they were ninjas, all of them, that he was in the guarded part of the hospital, which- okay, that kinda made sense, if they tried to keep eye on him in case the Weasel came back to finish the job.

It made him wonder if there were some _hidden_ guards keeping eye on him when he was in the room- and if so, he was _so so_ glad he didn’t suffer from talking out loud, because he was sure he wouldn’t have enjoyed the consequences (Survivor of a massacre talking about possessing himself? _Yikes_ ).

The Hokage didn’t seem like one engaging in small talk with orphaned little boys and Harry was eternally grateful for that. It seemed he was aware enough to read his mood a little bit and was content to just lead him to where he was supposed to live for the- for the rest of his life? Sounded terrifying but okay- while leaving Harry to collect himself and collect his thoughts.

“I noticed you enjoyed your view out of the hospital room, “ the Hokage suddenly spoke, clearly determined to prove him wrong- and Harry gave the observation the reaction it deserved- and that is, none. “Lucky for us, I was able to acquire keys and contract to a fairly newly furnished apartment with a balcony- high enough that you’d be able to enjoy the view over the Konoha to your heart’s content.”

Harry guessed the Old Man probably thought it encouraging- in his simple opinion, he found it in bad taste. And while it would be easy to rake the Hokage over the coals to remind him that a seven year old in an empty apartment looking over a village would only underline the fact _his whole family was dead_ \- he swallowed the urge down and just gave a jerky nod.

He couldn’t deny himself one comment though.

“There was nothing in the room,” he told the man blankly “The window was the only colour there.” He had to swallow ‘ _You idiot_ ’ because he guessed that would be a bit too much- from the mild frown the Hokage gave though, he heard it implied anyway. Oh well.

Positive thing of this exchange was though that it finally dawned on the man that he was in no mood of talking, and the rest of the way towards the entrance of the hospital remained in silence on both of their fronts. The mood had to translate even to the staff witnessing this exchange, as they mercifully stopped their stares and actually did _their job_ \- thought it left Harry wondering _what the hell was wrong with him_.

He was no stranger to anger; certainly no stranger to anger that made him want to sneer at people the likes of Malfoy or Snape.

But the Hokage- he shouldn’t make enemy of the Hokage. His only saving grace was that he was regarded as _seven years_ old boy, a child, thus not completely in control, but- well, that’s just the thing; the Hokage just made his metaphorical hackles rise, and despite his warmth and kindness, his concern just felt- dishonest.

Which was _odd_ \- because Harry remembered- _Sasuke_ remembered- the Hokage from early years, clearly spending time with children in the park, greeting new kids at the academy, and it never felt false then, never felt like something malicious- but honestly it didn’t feel malicious _now_ , just not entirely honest.

Then they walked out of the hospital and any musing about the man’s dishonesty was pulled on hold, as something in Harry immediately shrivelled _and died_.

There were people outside- lots of them. Certainly more than one would expect to do important business on a path so close to the hospital- and Harry was just uncomfortable reminded of the time the entire Leaky Cauldron surged to him in excitement over his presence, because (even as they tried to mask it, _badly_ ) the people were there for _him_.

Unknowingly, he pressed himself close to Hokage’s side, as if he was able to blend into the white of the man’s cloak with his _dumb_ earthen colours- but it helped none against the sheer _oppressiveness_ of the stares. Where the medic nins at least had the _courtesy_ to mask theirs- the _civilians_ (and no other word felt like such an insult the likes of a ‘ _mudblood’_ ) unashamedly stared at him with wide eyes, awed and impressed as if he performed amazing feat by surviving (he _didn’t_ , he was just not important enough for _weasel_ to _bother_ )- like little exhibition at the zoo, they just stared and _stared_ , and slowly the whispers joined, underlining the awfulness of the whole situation.

_“Is that..?”_

_“It is! He looks so small...”_

_“Doesn’t look much hurt does he?”_

_“I heard that he was tortur-“_

_“Shh! He’s looking!”_

They muttered and whispered and coughed and faked being busy ( _none of them were, and Harry hated it_ _)_ and despite being aware he was looking, that he was hearing _everything_ \- and they even warned each other of keeping their voices down, scolding others for not showing any tact in one breath, while flapping their mouth in other-

It was too much. Harry hated this; he hated all of this, this was _worse_ than the time at the Leaky Cauldron, because that was effect of any even that happened a _decade_ ago and the people had the mindfulness to _back off_. But this? It was like the- like Voldemort’s attack happened only a week ago, but _worse_ , and there was nothing to celebrate about it. Nothing for Harry to celebrate- he couldn’t say the same about the civilians, as they continued to gawk even as the Hokage started to lead him through the crowd, towards what was- Harry recognized with faint, shaky relief- the shinobi district of apartment buildings.

It was only small comfort, however, as the crowds slowly thinned on the road- because the Hokage _could_ have taken him through a different route- _hell_ , could have had someone take him over the roofs, far away from whispers and stares and unabashed, _rude_ and _disrespectful_ attention-

But he didn’t. He _didn’t_ , and Harry _hated it_ , and _hated_ the Hokage at the moment just a little bit, because-

Because-

...

Because it was necessary.

Harry would rather know what to expect than meet it on his own- and as much as he was distrustful of the Old Man right now, he _was_ his only ally at the moment, and powerful enough to order the rabble away if things got out of hand. Harry couldn’t imagine- didn’t want to imagine- venturing out on his own and being swarmed from all sides, _poor little tortured orphan, look at him dance!_

But even this small taste was enough- and Harry was left stumbling, legs weak and like jello, basically hanging onto the old man’s hand for support, drawing onto its warmth, making it his anchor. He was sick to his stomach, his breakfast threatening to come up- his skin felt clammy, his heartbeat too loud in his ears. But through all this the Hokage said nothing- didn’t even offer another encouraging squeeze, which Harry would actually welcome right now- and it was just a _shitty_ situation as a whole, and at the end of it, as the Old Man lead him towards a very nice neighbourhood- deserted of ninjas (probably on patrol)- Harry just felt- he felt thoroughly humiliated, and somehow punished, and had to blink his eyes hard to push back tears, because-

It had been almost too much. To see the wholly unfamiliar faces, uncaring of his own feelings, and the man beside him- walking in front of him- seemed like unmoving mountain, and Harry just....

He was alone. So very much _alone_ , and that won’t change any time soon, and he doubted it ever will.

His next breath came out more shaky than the one before but his eyes stayed dry- he refused to cry in front of the Hokage, and refused to cry in front of the hiding shinobi that are sure to dog his every step.

“...Here we are, Sasuke-kun,” The Old Man had the _gall_ to turn around and look at him with kind and soft expression, as if Harry just wasn’t at the edge of the complete breakdown, handing the boy a key to his new apartment he apparently just managed to conjure out of _thin air_.

(Harry knew wizard can do it, but can shinobi do that too? He rather doubted it.)

“I will let you settle in,” the Hokage continued as if nothing was wrong and Harry probably hated him a little more than the _weasel_ , at that very moment- just a little bit more. “The key’s have number- but just to be sure, it’s the seventh floor, end of the hallway, last door at the right.”

Seventh floor- like Seventh floor of the Castle, where the common room is supposed to be, and Harry just _aches_.

The Hokage reached out to pat him on the head again- this time the gesture brought no comfort at all, and only made the boy feel like _dumb, useless child_ \- before graciously gifting him one last smile, finally leaving Harry alone on his own.

At least it seemed so, though Harry- thoroughly and always a paranoid little bastard- rather doubted it.

He wondered what consequences a genocide of this magnitude had in a military lead village, especially if the attacker left alive only one another person that conveniently shares the same familial blood.

He didn’t want to think he was being watched to see if he was the same mental case as _weasel_ , but he couldn’t _help it_.

Hiss escaped his clenched teeth as sharp pain broke through his numbness- and Harry realized he had been clutching the gifted key to his new apartment so hard the sharp corner of the number thirteen (How ironic) started cutting sharply into his palm. He relaxed his grip- there was no blood- and rolled his shoulder, before slowly, painfully, started to make his way up the stair.

The lack of tenants was a bit disconcerting- and he wondered if they were deliberately ordered away to give him at least some amount of peace, or if they were ordered away so that his- he was sure of it- hidden guards weren’t triggering any danger sense of kunai-happy ninjas. Probably the latter. He doubted the Hokage gives a damn about one little boy in need of some peace and quiet.

—X—

The apartment was... okay. But Harry never had anything of his own, never seen anything else beside Dursley’s home, his ratty room or his slightly nicer room at the Uchiha District, and Weasley’s house- and compared to all of them, this new living space of his felt... impersonal.

Even his room at the Dursleys had at least some Gryffindor memorabilia (and few drawings of Hedwig- oh, _Hedwig_ \- he made when he was bored out of his mind, not that he continued to pursue that hobby).

The only sign this apartment was supposed to be his for the apparent future was a big red and white uchiwa hanged above his bed, and his stomach just _rolled_ with nausea as he first caught sight of it.

It wasn’t damaged in any way; not broken, not fractured, not stained of blood- and yet it might as well been, with the way Harry suddenly felt short of breath and dizzy. In the next second he was aware of his numb fingers clumsily grasping on the edge of the fan, standing on the bed- and seeing the red up _so close_ had bile gather in his throat, burning with such intensity that he gagged, gasping hard-

When he finally managed to get it off the wall- even as he _hated_ the sight of it, he didn’t break or tear it, _he couldn’t, there were enough broken fans in the Uchiha District-_

Still, as he hurriedly shoved the symbol behind nearest wardrobe, he then doubled over and slapped his hand over his mouth, near blindly stumbling into the kitchen before finally sicking up into the sink.

He heaved, gagging and tears finally slipping from his eyes and rolling down his cheeks, as he squeezed his eyelids shut, trying to block out the _red red red_ from his sight- _red like Gryffindor banner, red like blood_ \- then his knees gave out and he slid next to the kitchen counter, curling on the wooden floor- and _sobbed_.

Soft and gasping, and lasting maybe only a minute- but enough to leave him feeling completely _useless_ and _dumb_ , because who cries over stupid fan?

Apparently he does.

His stomach gurgled and churned again, this time from discomfort of the emptiness and the ache of throwing up- and his mouth felt _awful_ , but he only curled into tighter ball, pressing his face into the ground, taking some sort of relief from the cool indifference of the wood.

It was only when the world seemed to right itself again a bit, that he got up and went to clean after himself.

—X—

He spent the rest of the day aimlessly exploring the rest of the apartment, but to his relief the fan has been the only Uchiha symbol used. And he wondered if whoever hanged it there tried to bring him some comfort- or if it had been some sort of test that he failed _miserably_ \- but Harry, drained emotionally and exhausted physically, didn’t really care at the moment. Let them make their assumptions, and their conclusions; single lapse of control is not bad as far as he was concerned.

Soon in his exploration he also discovered that beside the fan, there was literally _nothing_ in the apartment that could be considered a distraction. No books, no scrolls; no weapons of any sort (but he supposed, searching through his memories, they didn’t work with those at the academy yet, so he shouldn’t be too bummed out about that)- but it also meant no _empty_ scrolls, no ink and brush; nothing to write _in_ , nothing to write _with_.

And that made him realize- with achy dismay- that eventually, before the month was over, he _would_ be forced to go back to the Uchiha District, to collect everything that was lacking in this apartment. What he wasn’t surprisingly low on were toiletries and cleaning supplies; even the fridge has been stocked up to brim, enough to last him for few days, if he wished to hunker down and hermit for a bit.

Option that seemed attractive enough the more and more time passed.

Especially as he discovered his closet has been filled with enough non-marked clothes to last him for a week without doing laundry- and on a table in the hallway (that he didn’t notice first time around, too lost in his horror at the presence of the fan) were a wallet full of cash and a carefully folded set of documents that upon closer inspection revealed all necessary papers to take control over his clan’s finances- and Harry was struck with sorrow and guilt, reminded not exactly of the day he got his Gringott’s key, but close.

Because this money- it didn’t feel like he _should use it_. His parents’ money? Well, yeah, he supposed- but his clan wasn’t just his parents; it were people who were maybe Uchiha, but so distantly related they might as well be complete strangers; it were people who bled and died for this payment on missions, who risked head and limb to provide for their families, who worked endless hours and made very little in the end-

When it all pooled together though, it was clear- as Harry was reading through the papers, dismayed to find that there was no part that listed which belonged to whom, and how much they had in before it joined under his name- that Harry was, once again, filthy rich; a fact which had the disgust from earlier of the day return, because he had no _right_ to that money. It was inheritance paid for by blood and tears; paid by souls of innocent; it was _grave robbing_ , and Harry wanted nothing to do with it.

But even rereading the documents third time or second time didn’t yield any different information- and he started to have the uncomfortable feeling that maybe the Uchiha _did_ operate on single account alone (Clan of many, clan of _one_ )- that the resources were pooled from the beginning, and unless Harry- by some miracle- was able to find some clan accounting books to see just how much each member contributed to the pile, he will never be able to find out the exact amount his immediate family owned.

He could guess- moderate. His mother was housewife; his father a police chief. He _guessed_ that the _weasel_ has been an ANBU- yeah he had no idea.

Annoyed, he folded the documents back up and took them to his new bedroom, placing them in the top drawer of his bedside table.

But all in all, that is his finances covered. He can turtle down and wait out few days in relative peace (he is leery of unexpected visitors) and if he gets absolutely bored out of his mind, he can- _attempt_ venturing out to find something to distract himself with. It was that thought that finally brought him out on the balcony, sourly admitting to himself he _did_ enjoy the view- far better than the tiny window in the hospital, but a sight that filled him with _urge_ to jump on a broom and fly- before he remembered he doesn’t have his broom and has _no real chance_ of flying in the immediate future either- and the realization had him turn away from the railing sharply, bitterness twisting his expression because it wasn’t _fair_.

He _wanted_ \- he so desperately _wanted_ so many _things_.

He wanted his _friends_ ; he wanted his _owl_. He wanted his broom, and his stupid school robes, and his _wand_ , and he wanted to go down to the Great Hall and sit with his mates, and have a laugh over Errol crash landing in the cereal bowl-

He didn’t want this. He didn’t want empty apartment and strange culture that made sense and no sense, he didn’t want another family tragedy, didn’t want to train to be a _killer_ -

The boy choked down another sob as he made beeline for the bed, crumpling on it and angrily kicking of his sandals- _stupid sandals, who wears sandals nowadays_ \- before he attempted to bury into his covers to hide from the nonsensical world.

He knew he was unreasonable. He knew it was his situation drawing out unnecessary anger- but he was just so tired of it all. He could, reasonably, even tell he was not done accepting everything; there was still naive hope in the corner of his wounded heart that this was all just temporary, that things will go back to how they’ve been-

But they won’t. He knew they won’t, he wasn’t a fool. But he couldn’t _help it_.

He closed his eyes, tired of seeing the pristine, unfamiliar place.

—X—

Trying to care of himself with the grace of a seven years old- even if said seven year old has been slowly but surely training in the art of giving someone else a _bad_ bad day- was... hard. Sasuke had maybe been training to be graceful fast fighter- but clearly he never did any sort of house chores besides cleaning his room, because Harry soon found out that to successfully do anything, one actually needed to have some sort of muscle memory to do it. And he cursed and snarled, when the thin, seemingly skilful fingers fumbled over even such a simple task like making scrambled eggs, or felt leaden and clumsy when he folded his shirts. Simple tasks- chores he did at the Dursleys ever since he was _five_ \- but here he was forced to learn efficiency all over again, underlining the helplessness he felt over his situation.

His rice burned. And all he could do was to stare mournfully into the dirtied pot, trying to blame his muscle memory for this as well, but- no. That was just inattention. Silently, he scraped the rice into a free container and then put the dirty pot into the sink, filling it with water.

He was lucky he didn’t set fire to anything so far, but- looking at the sad lump of overcooked rice, burned at the edges- image of his mother’s perfect bento flashed through his eyes and his face crumpled. He didn’t cry, even as the urge was there- but he didn’t defend himself from the urge to let his head fall down on the table with dull ‘thunk’, closing his eyes against the sting of the hit.

He felt like such a failure.

It has only been three days- days he spent between sleeping, cooking some miserable imitation of food, watching the sky roll over the endless blue sky, before sleeping again- but the silence of the apartment finally got oppressive enough that- Harry realized he just needed to get out, at least of a minute.

(And maybe buy some tomatoes, because it was embarrassing how quickly Harry went through the ones in his fridge, and even more embarrassing how he craved _more_ )

And he could treat it a bit like personal mission- drawing himself to full height (not impressive) before resolutely slipping on his sandals- _did no-one knew the concept of sneakers in this world?_ \- before grabbing both his keys and his wallet, and stomped down the stairway, not bothering to lock his door.

(There was nothing in the apartment that he had any attachment to, and only a fool would try claiming the Uchiha account at this point)

Outside of the building, he finally faltered, because- well, where to go? He immediately dismissed the idea of the park- _weasel_ used to take him there, but Harry didn’t fancy meeting anyone ‘his age’ at the moment- so, he guessed, getting tomatoes from the market it was.

If he knew _where_ the market was, that is.

That made him realize that apart from the park and the Academy- and apart from the occasional stroll that made him recognize both the Hospital and the shinobi-only apartments- he has never really been... anywhere close to high frequented civilian section. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Sasuke’s memories offered a faded recollection of visiting the- the Hyuuga?- estate for a ‘playdate’ with the heir of that particular clan, but- truly in young boy’s fashion- girls were gross and had cooties and Sasuke screamed and threw a tantrum until _weasel_ took him back home.

(Further recollection hinted at his father being rather displeased so Harry shoved that memory back to where it came from, washing his hands off of it.)

That still left him with a problem- and further questions. He remembered being taught- both in clan and in class- that Uchiha’s were one of the founding clans of Konoha, so... Why they were all just lumped together in one place? It felt odd, this isolationist nature, to the point that Harry knew his mother bought groceries only from an Uchiha vendor in the district. It was precisely for that reason he now had no idea _where_ to go buy his groceries.

(It could be that his clan felt that they were above everyone else, which- fair enough, made some sort of sense, from what he remembered)

Looking around the street he found himself in, yielded no hints as to which way he should take. Indecisive, shuffling on the spot- before he squared his shoulders and started walking again, heading towards the way they took when he returned from hospital. He figured that sooner or later he would encounter more people on the streets, and- if it becomes _absolutely_ necessary- he can always _ask_ someone for directions.

Still he felt like newborn lamb the closer and closer he got to the main road, already hearing the bustle and noises of everyday life. Large part of him rebelled at the thought of joining them; this was not his world, not his _home_ , and he was afraid that in his feeble attempt at integrating he would become trapped- metaphorical chains wrapped around him, cutting into his soul, anchored him to this place.

He swallowed, chasing away the depressive thoughts; his feet felt like jello on the rare occasion he _could_ feel them- but that was no _excuse_ as far as he was concerned. He refused to show them any weakness, paranoid about his shadowy tails; refused to give them any reason to think he was not unfit to be by himself, or give them reason to think he couldn’t return to the Academy once the month was over.

Harry had plenty of time to think about that. Did he want to be a ninja? Hell no- but he refused to be defenceless. There was no way of resuming his magic education to make that happen (and to be honest, he didn’t think about his sudden ‘muggleness’ that much; he refused to), so continuing his shinobi training was the only option. But if he showed he wasn’t mentally capable of it..?

He chased away those grim thoughts as he came to a stop at a crossroads, looking down all the options. As he had suspected, once he got out of the shinobi occupied sector, the streets slowly filled up with people (his guess that the patrols around the city got more frequent also had some merit, because while he didn’t hear anyone from his bout of ‘hermiting’ for the last three days, he didn’t see any other soul either- meaning all his new neighbours were probably leaving early and coming home late).

Nausea immediately churned in his gut, as he didn’t even manage to take a step towards the bustle of everyday village life, and already he had the attention of everyone on the street. It seemed the past three days of his absence did nothing to stop any rumours or opinions beings formed; and as he was sure he looked quite a sight (ruffled clothes and messy hair, looking like unruly _kitten_ ), his appearance would fuel many more.

His instincts were telling him this was a bad idea, but Harry was no _coward_. He was a Gryffindor, and he is capable of going into the market and buy some bloody tomatoes, _damn it_. He might look like a child, but he wasn’t one- he was nearly _fifteen_ , and had been looking after himself for longer than Sasuke has been alive, and so he was more than capable of going into the market and meet the people.

However the longer he walked (legs stubbornly carrying him on forward, even as his heart rebelled against it) the more it was obvious that this would be _worse_ than what he encountered on his way from the hospital.

Much worse, as the awed looks from before- and Harry realized this with a sinking feeling- slowly changed to _pity_. Reaching the first stalls of what he supposed were the edges of the market was surprisingly easy, and with it came more noise and level of activity that nearly gave Harry a headache just from the dizzying mess of colours and movement.

But even _that_ wasn’t the worst.

“Good morning Uchiha-kun!” cheerful voice echoed from one of the passerby’s, and Harry suppressed a flinch at the sudden greeting. Before he could so much as turn towards the origin of the greeting, it was followed by another and another, an eerily similar echo of falsely positive voices, digging into his person out of nowhere, unwanted.

“Morning, Uchiha-kun!”

“A lovely day, isn’t it lad?”

“Out for gander? Oh, if you are looking for some great deals, Hiroshi-san down the street has brought in _beautifully_ decorated glassware! Land Of Wind made, a real beaut!”

“Nonsense, Takeda-kun across the fruit stall has the best copper pans for even cheaper, way more useful!”

“Do you need someone to help you, Uchiha-kun?”

Harry hissed inaudibly from behind his clenched teeth, trying so _hard_ to ignore all this- this honey glazed politeness and courtesy, but he felt _trapped_. The adults around him paid _too close_ of an attention to him- their shapes almost distorting at the corner of his eyes, alien creatures too tall and too _close_ , and Harry almost subconsciously picked up the pace, wanting to get through this hellish place in one piece and with some sort of dignity-

-And then the slowly distorting reality snapped into focus once again, as the cheerful bustle changed to shouts in the distance- and then to yells and curses, and it only got louder as it got closer.

“Hey! Watch it!”

“You little _brat_ \- watch where you are going!”

“Get out of here _you_ -!”

Harry reared back at first- his heartbeat picking up place at the shouts, wondering if the people finally got tired of their pretence- and he almost turned around and ran, not feeling equipped to handle this sort of hostility- but then he paused, confused. The shouts started _away_ from where he was standing, and only then got closer- so what-?

His instincts screamed and by some power above he jumped out of the way, nearly stumbling, when a streak of white and _gold_ just narrowly missed barrelling into him without any signs of stopping. Then the blur stopped, and Harry realized it was a _boy_ Sasuke’s age.

The boy- blue eyed, angelic looking son of a _hellbeast_ , apparently- turned around and blew a loud messy raspberry at one of the vendors who had been shouting after him, before giving a cocky sneer.

“Screw you asshole, you are in my way!”

Harry was sure he knew him; and his memories offered some hint at his identity (Sasuke’s only thoughts about him was _Uzumaki_ , even going as far as _useless_ or _looser_ , which- well, Sasuke hasn’t been the most humble of children, was he?)- but the interaction between the civilians and his classmate- and Harry winced guiltily because he couldn’t remember his first name- didn’t make sense.

He was given no time to think deeply about it, however, as Uzumaki gave the shouting civilian a mocking, rude gesture with his hand before continuing on his merry way, laughing all the while like a demented hyena, causing more mayhem down the rest of the street.

And Harry was left there, standing still, wondering _what the hell_ just happened.

There was one positive from this though- as with the distraction of the blonde ( _golden_ ) boy, the civilians were now shouting and muttering among themselves, their attention on Harry broken- and the boy used it to his advantage, turning around on his heel and _hightailing_ it out of there. It wasn’t that he was running again, he argued to himself- it was a simple, _tactical_ , retreat. Live to fight another day, isn’t that the shinobi way of handling things?

It was pure coincidence his legs took him the same way his classmate went, spontaneously deciding that it was best to follow the mayhem the blond left in place- the adults too preoccupied with their ire at the other boy, that they didn’t notice Harry running right past, automatically dismissing him as a similar troublemaker.

It was only at the end of the road that he took the opposite path than Uzumaki, and soon the shouts and yells faded in the distance, the only sound being the noise of his own gasping breath. His run slowed to a simple jog, and then to a casual walk- until he stopped, sighing wearily.

The street he found himself on wasn’t completely devoid of life (but then, he thought resignedly, none of the streets would be) but it was certainly less populated than the market. There were shops there as well- permanent one, settled well into the welcoming face of the buildings lining the streets. People here were busier but also weren’t; walking in and out of the shops, the tingling of the shop bells adding to the already warm atmosphere of nice Konoha days. He had gathered some attention, of course- the people _did_ have some uncanny idea what he should look like, he thought sourly- but it wasn’t as _bad_ as at the market. At least here though, besides some overly friendly greetings, he was left in relative peace, as the civilians had their own errands to run, their own shopping to do- and had only limited time to make it.

Harry resumed his slow walk.

He was still wary- still paranoid of someone actually _trying_ to go as far as touch him- but the new sights soon proved to be a distraction. He couldn’t- as Sasuke- remember one single time he took this road. And the shops...

It felt almost like visiting Diagon Alley for the first time- though, it lacked certain... _magic_.

The shops were almost painfully mundane- and yet flashed with all sorts of colours. Similar to Diagon Alley, there was a bookstore, and a stationery shop (Harry eyed both of those with barely hidden interest, because books meant _enrichment_ , and he yearned to be able to put his thoughts down on a paper); there was flower shop instead of apothecary, and a complete _muggle_ pet store instead of an Owl Emporium.

(That had him think about Hedwig again, and his mood dropped. He missed his owl.)

But where Diagon Alley had been pure shops and stores, and the Leaky Cauldron the only inn/pub the British wizards were gathering in, Konoha seemed much more advanced in the gastronomy area.

As soon as he walked few more steps, his nose had been assaulted with plethora of scents- and most of them came from some sort of deliciously cooked _food_. It smelled _so good_ that he was forced to stop and just take in the mouth watering aroma, closing his eyes as he breathed deep. His half burned, overcooked rice (and cold now too he guessed) flashed through his mind and-

Well it was not tomatoes, but he really could do with something actually _edible_ today.

(Which he clearly won’t be getting if he decides to _retreat_ again)

Trouble was then to find the right place to eat. Everything seemed great; he eyed the dango stand with interest, but responsibly decided that eating sweets for dinner wasn’t the way to go. The rice curry caught some of his attention, but it only reminded him of his cooking failure back at the apartment, so he just kind of sneaked past it, his cheeks pinking at the sight of the perfectly made rice.

Eventually he found himself indecisive in front what seemed to be some sort of a barbecue place (Yakiniku Q, and seeing that blatantly placed letter of the roman alphabet kinda threw him off, because _what_ \- he thought no-one spoke any other language than Japanese here?).

It _smelled_ delicious- and Harry hovered at the edge of deciding of going in, his foot almost lifting, but-

The people. If the other restaurants and stands were moderately occupied, then by the sound of it, this restaurant was _packed_. And as much as Harry’s taste buds demanded of him to take a peek inside, maybe inquire if they do take-aways...

Silently, he turned away on his heel and continued walking, hunching over his shoulders and putting his hands in his shorts’ pockets, trying to keep people from noticing how shaky they were and how clammy.

 _‘Am I a coward?’_ he wondered as the distance between him and the restaurant grew.

He could imagine what his friends would say-

Hermione would worry; assurance would be spilling from her lips, _‘No you aren’t, it’s perfectly understandable reaction to traumatic event-‘_

Ron would just flounder, ending the whole situation with _‘That sucks mate.’_

It still felt like he lost some personal war, skipping the visit, but he just- he could imagine himself walking and then just becoming the attention of all the customers in the restaurant- and just no. He would rather choke to death on his burned rice.

Mood soured, he continued walking aimlessly, kicking idly at a larger stone on the road, absently noticing the large establishments were slowly exchanged for smaller ones, until eventually only street-food stands remained. The road turned somewhat shabbier; the buildings lost their clean and well kept look- but for all of that, Harry couldn’t help but feel more comfortable among the less well off side of the village. Where the other shopping district did its best to be welcoming- this part of felt like it had _soul_.

“See ya later jii-san!”

“Have a nice day, Naruto!”

Harry’s head snapped forward- and once again he was forced to jump out of the way of his hurricane of a classmate- so his name was _Naruto_ , that was fitting- as the boy burst out of the food bar next to him, not even bothering to look where he was going. Harry thought of snapping at the blonde- he should watch where he was going, _seriously_ \- but Naruto disappeared as quickly as he appeared, Harry only goggling as the class clown ducked into an alley and then scaled the wall like a bloody _squirrel._

Laughter then had him snap his head up and he could only incredulously watch as the _seven year_ old boy jumped away from roof top to roof top, uncaring for the shouts that followed his antics, only laughing even louder.

It was... surreal.

And also sort of _awesome_ to witness.

 _‘Dangerous,’_ his Hermione-voice disagreed.

 _‘Awesome,’_ Inner-Ron stressed.

Shaking himself out of his stupor, he curiously looked into the food bar, intrigued by the kindness the owner showed the blonde. Sasuke’s memories showed the other boy wasn’t that popular in class; always skipping lessons, making trouble, not paying attention. This all caused Sasuke to not pay any attention to the blonde of course- but then again, Sasuke never paid any attention to his classmates, feeling above them.

Harry was just... bewildered. Kind of dreading the day when he would return to the Academy, because _Merlin’s beard_ , the kids were _half his age_. And as it was, Harry didn’t have good memories from his time at the Surrey primary- seven year old kids were cruel little monsters, and he had been far too happy leaving any memories from that time buried deeply in his brain.

Soft breeze ran through the street, and with it brought the scent of whatever the food bar was making- and Harry’s nose twitched at the _almost_ familiar scent, his throat tightening, his stomach protesting loudly in hunger. Almost as if daze, he looked up to read the name of the restaurant- Ramen Ichiraku, _best pleasure_ indeed- before he peered a bit hopefully into the depths behind the banners.

There were no customers, and Harry- relieved and _wanting_ \- walked inside without hesitance.

“Well hello there!” the boy winced at the suddenness of the greeting, turning his attention towards the cook behind the counter- the owner, he assumed. He was met with a kind face and even kinder smile, the man’s eyes crinkling at the corners. “Welcome to Ramen Ichiraku, curious customer! I assure you we serve only the best of the best here, a truly artisan level of a dish, not just simple broth and noodles!”

He gave a laugh and the boy felt lured forward, reminded of _gold and orange_ , not really returning the smile or the greeting but- feeling not that put off.

“Now what strikes your fancy, honoured customer?”

“I-“ Harry’s voice was rough and scratchy, rusty from non-use, and the sound of it had him go pink in his cheeks, feeling embarrassment mingling with desperation. “I’m sorry, I just- I just wanted to-“

He swallowed, feeling his face just _burning_ \- but somehow the ramen chef’s expression just turned into something softer, something even kinder, before the man laughed again and waved his hand.

“Say no-more! I know just the thing!”

He turned around and Harry swallowed down the bubbling confusion and rejection, preparing to turn around and slink away from the ramen bar like the _stray_ he was- when the man moved to face him again and large decorated bowl filled with, what could only be _heaven_ , thunked heavily on the counter in front of him.

“First is on the house, alright?” The man winked at him, and then turned back to man his pots, humming cheerfully. Quite obviously giving Harry the privacy the boy so desperately wanted. And the boy found himself dragging himself up into the seat before he could even think about it, lured in both by the respect towards his needs and by the familiar, _comforting_ scent-

And it _was_ the noodle soup he has been having at the hospital. Not completely the same, of course- but clearly it was the same dish, and Harry didn’t even hesitate into breaking his chopsticks apart and hungrily swooping up a big mouthful of them past his lips.

He suppressed a whine and a shudder as he squeezed his eyes shut. It was _better_ than the hospital noodles.

“..It’s- it’s amazing,” he whispered honestly, in small voice, grateful when all the ramen chef did was just chuckle softly, leaving him to his devices. And Harry finally, for the first time since he got out of the hospital, relaxed.

Things were still awful of course- but they felt manageable for that day, not threatening to overwhelm Harry’s whole being. Unknown to the boy, his lips twitched in an echo of a smile as he leaned in to take sip of the golden soup, savouring the richness of it, even the salt and spice.

He sincerely hoped the bar had take-out option.

—X—

In his next days, Harry started to develop some resemblance of a routine.

The meal at Ichiraku seemed to fill him with actual energy, and gave him actual reason to venture out- he didn’t spend every day at the bar, but definitely most of his dinners; the time in evening, when the sun gets low and shadows too long, chill filling the air- it made him appreciate the way the golden glow of the bar’s light and the warmth of the soup, easily keeping the ice inside him thawed out. It filled him with a sense of stability; enough that he attempted to pay the ramen chef- Teuchi- back for the free meal of his first day, but the man didn’t want to hear of it, stubborn in his claim of ‘first one is free’.

(Harry was old enough to know that was _bullshit_ \- but nevertheless he was grateful, and out of respect to the man didn’t bring it up again.)

He didn’t ran into Naruto after his first encounter, not that the blonde even recognized him (it took embarrassedly long for Harry to realize that Naruto wouldn’t hesitate to get into some sort of spat with him if he did, and thanked his lucky stars for continuing to wear earthen colours. Uchiha Sasuke wouldn’t have been caught _dead_ in wearing anything but dark blues and blacks, and especially in something without his clan symbol, and Harry _knew_ that Naruto knew that). And as he continued to visit the ramen place- taking stupidly slow to connect this place to the one Naruto kept yelling about in class- he couldn’t help but think about his ( _future_ ) blond classmate.

Sasuke had- like many kids in his class- knew, in an offhand way, that Naruto was an orphan- but he hadn’t really _understood_ what it means. Part of it being his age, part of it simply being that the concept was simply too alien for him at the time; a child with both sets of parents, big brother, and large clan to back him up.

Harry understood though. And yes, he had Dursleys as his guardians, and thus he wasn’t completely alone- but Dursleys really didn’t count.

It made him wonder.

He guessed the village orphans had to live on some sort of allowance- enough of it that they could get clothes and food and have roof above their head; Naruto certainly bragged about having a place all to himself (though Harry now had doubts if it really was as cool as the blonde made it out to be, since living as a small child on his own was _torture_ ) which means he had to receive some sort of stipend. But from his lack of presence at his favourite place- he doubted it couldn’t be much.

(From a part, it reminded him of Weasleys; tight budget, and second hand clothes- but the Weasleys at least had each other- Naruto had no-one)

It bothered him to the point, he eventually asked Teuchi- hesitant, over his bowl- how often Naruto visited.

It really shouldn’t have surprised him the way the look in the man’s eyes brightened, fondness spreading over his expression.

“Oh, you know Naruto-kun? He’s one of my _best_ customers- half the bills get paid by his visits alone!” He laughed merrily at that and Harry couldn’t help but crack a wan grin, easily believing that.

“We are.. classmates.” He murmured. Because yeah- Sasuke didn’t made many friends, even among-

He breathed out once.

-Even among the other Uchiha children. Thought of as spoiled and usually only tailing after his brother- not that the Uchiha showed it outside the district, not wanting to show anything but united front in the class.

( _‘Sounds like Slytherins,’_ his Inner-Ron muttered and Harry had to privately agree)

Which was a blessing in disguise. It meant there was really no-one expecting him to instantly buddy up- thought it circled back to his issue of being _alone_ and thus, it was more depressing.

“Ah, Sasuke-kun,” Teuchi nodded knowingly- hah, as if the man didn’t know who Harry was the moment he walked in “Yes, Naruto-kun talks about you often.”

“’Complains’, you mean,” the dark haired boy muttered while giving a wry smile to show he meant nothing by it- and Teuchi laughed heartily, nodding in agreement.

“Ah, but what is a little rivalry, eh?”

“ _Little_.”

His smile widened as the man laughed harder, feeling tingling of warmth settling in his chest. This was... almost normal. Teuchi left him to his devices most of the time, and when they did talk, he didn’t looked at him with pity, nor he talked to him like to a small fool. He was... refreshingly honest and true, and Harry felt almost like himself- fourteen, almost fifteen years old, more of a young adult than primary school age kid.

“It’s lean period for Naruto this close to the end of the month,” Teuchi continues as he rubs one of his bowls dry “A relief for me, I would think! Gives me time to stock up ingredients for his next visit- image that, if he could, he’d visit every day, and I’d have to close early because I’d have nothing to sell!” He laughed again and Harry still kept his smile up, but inwardly he wilted as his suspicion was confirmed.

Teuchi clearly tried to make the situation lighter by the joke, but Harry could see the concern in his furrowed brow- lean time for Naruto meant the boy had hard time getting enough nourishment- and that had Harry think how _lucky_ it was to have a fat bank account, where this sort of thing could never endanger him.

It was unfair. Because he _knew_ what it was like to go without enough food for long. But even in his wizarding self (he refused to think about it as his first life), he didn’t remain penniless for long; through the power of magical inheritance, he suddenly became rich, and Hogwarts fed everyone equally well, each meal nothing short of a feast.

His classmate will never have that.

Deep in thought, he thanked Teuchi for the meal and left after he payed, choosing the long way home. Thinking about his living situation had him, inevitably, think about his fallen clan- and the fact he still wasn’t able to hang the uchiwa back above his bed.

( _Remembering the red-white fan had him experience moment of nausea but- it wasn’t as bad as the first time he saw it_ )

It also made him think about the plain, symbol-less clothes he wore, how he basically was an Uchiha only in name- and he knew people noticed, felt their stares lingering, and he hadn’t understood _why_ at first.

( _It was all to do with cultural difference, he supposed. He maybe Uchiha Sasuke to the large populace of the village, but he didn’t feel like him- and didn’t realize that not wearing his clan symbol was the least Uchiha thing he could have done.)_

But he just- he just _couldn’t_. None of them understood the darkness and tar-like _tarnish_ he felt when he imagined wearing that symbol on him- and he more than once silently begged his dead kin to forgive him- but he just _couldn’t_ wear them.

Thinking of the clan though had him realize-

It had been almost two weeks now. And in his attempt at distancing himself from everything that didn’t made sense, he completely forgot his _clan_ died.

( _Didn’t really forget- hardly was able to forget something like that- but didn’t quite understand that what meant)_

Clan meant people- clan meant his _family_.

It meant funeral.

( _‘It’s not your fault,’_ Hermione would probably whisper, ever logical _‘You have a lot going on right now, you are a child, it’s not your responsibility-‘_ )

But Harry- his insides rebelling, inwardly kicking and screaming and weeping because they weren’t _his_ family, _why should he care_ \- and fuck it, he _cared_ , he cared _so much_ \- Harry felt _ashamed_. Ashamed for not realizing sooner, but he _was_ the last of kin, and thus the duty fell to him, and if he was disgraceful enough to not wear their symbol, he could do at least _this_.

Allow them to pass on with dignity, make sure the proper rites were conducted.

( _Uchihas lived for the flame, and they died for the flame. Sasuke had attended only one funeral- and elderly Uchiha passed away from long lasting illness- and Harry could remember the reverence his clansmen used as they laid the body on the prepared pyre, dressed up in crimson and silver thread. They used a special jutsu for lighting up the wood and actual uchiwas to fan the flames to greater heights. The reception was more of a celebration of the person who passed, lasting well until after sun went down- and then the whole clan lighted up and released a sea of flying lanterns, watching them disappear in the night sky, joining the stars.)_

However.

With that plan came realization of what he would have to do- because with a... a murder on this scale- well.

He would have to- as much as he doesn’t _want_ to- talk to the Hokage.

That meant going into the Hokage’s Tower.

Which was located, conveniently, next to the Academy- actually connected through the building, if he remembered correctly.

Sighing in annoyance, he stopped and looked up at the slowly darkening sky. Today was already too late to demand audience with the Old Man, so it would have to wait until tomorrow. Slightly embarrassed, he couldn’t even recall what day it was; was it work day, weekend? Just to be on the safe side, he decided to head there when the classes would be in full swing (so far he never woke up late, always getting up at sunrise- but decided that investing in an alarm clock was the next thing on his list).

With tomorrow’s plans set, he felt much more at ease, especially convinced that he would soon do his best at honouring his Clan’s last rites. After that... well, he was never good at making long term plans, but... The month was almost over.

So maybe it would be time to look into the whole... Academy business.

—X—

“I’m sorry Uchiha-kun, but I am afraid that won’t be possible.”

“I- I’m sorry?”

Harry just stared numbly at the Old Man seated behind the large wooden desk, puffing idly at his tobacco pipe. It had been- surprisingly easy to get an appointment with the Hokage (too easy for a child his age, really- but the secretary had nearly tripped with the haste of getting into the man’s office when he gave her his name, and soon enough he was ushered in, feeling like unruly pupil brought into the headmaster’s office. The meeting started- pleasantly enough.

( _As pleasant as Harry could make it out be, forcing his confusing distrust toward the man down and dutifully answering every probing idle inquiry the village leader had.)_

Yes, he likes his apartment, thank you. He enjoys the view. He isn’t that skilled at cooking, but he gets by okay.

But then the discussion turned out towards the reason for his visit- and Harry could see the man was genuinely curious, even going as far as leaning forward in his seat when the boy started haltingly explain- but as soon as he got his wish heard, talking about giving his kin traditional Uchiha burial, the man just...

Seemed to withdraw, no longer as welcoming. Barely even looking Harry’s way, he denied his request with practically no louder emotion, infuriatingly serene.

“But-“ Harry swallowed, taken aback, shocked, and _confused_. “But why not? ...Sir.”

The Hokage seemed to age a bit in his seat, heaving a sigh.

“Because the victims of the tragic assault that had happened two weeks ago at your clan’s district had already been buried as according to Konoha law at the Konoha’s cemetery. Shinobi on the shinobi side, and civilians on the civilian side.” In the stifling silence after his succinct explanation, he just took another puff of his pipe, before continuing. “A memorial has been raised at the start of their aisle, where all the victims’ names have been listed in alphabetical order.”

It would have been better if he shouted. But as it was, all Harry could do was stare, numb in shock, before giving a slow bow and then leave without saying a word. What could he say? What else was there to say?

As he dazedly made his way out of the tower, ignoring the looks the many chuunin working at the tower gave him. When he slowly realized where his legs were taking him- to the outskirts of the village, where the cemetery was located- he started feeling anger.

This was- _how_ could _he_?

_How could he?_

( _‘Son of a bitch!’_ he wished Ron was here to shout, the redhead always having uncanny ability to put into word what Harry was too polite to say _‘That was not your call to make!’_ )

Harry wasn’t even capable of thinking anything else, too stunned by the disrespect, too taken aback by the disregard for the Uchiha’s traditions- and the man had to know them, had to see the lanterns high in the sky, had to know about the pyre and flames!

And he just _buried_ them.

As if their blood and tears, their hard work, their _legacy_ \- had been _nothing_.

Anger boiled over into flash of white hot rage, but then slowly simmered down and cooled off, leaving him irritable and bitter.

Coming to stop in front of the mentioned memorial did nothing to improve his mood. As everything he encountered so far that connected to him- to _Sasuke_ , to Uchiha clan- it was impersonal. Large black pillar, and on it countless of names- in alphabetical order. There was no plaque; no sign to explain who were these people, how they died, so that future generation would know of their tragic ending; just UCHIHA engraved in deep, bold strokes and then a date, and nothing more.

They couldn’t be even bothered keep his parents on top of the list, seeing they were the Clan leaders.

His hands curled into tight fists.

He didn’t know why he cared- apart from maybe three or four people, none of these people gave a damn about him- about _Sasuke_. If he went by that measurement, _none_ of them even knew Harry- so why should he care a whole clan of people had their tradition spit on, their whole existence becoming just a tally on a black stone and nothing more meaningful than that.

But he cared. Because they were still _people_ \- and they deserved better.

They deserved better than _this_.

And for the life of him, he just couldn’t understand why the village- why the _Hokage_ \- seemed to be so _callous_ about their deaths. Weren’t the Uchiha- well, royalty, of sorts? Definitely nobility of some kind- but then he remembered at the lack of anything remotely Uchiha in the village; no statues or banners honouring one of the Founding clans.

While Senju Hashirama (and his brother, and by extension the whole Senju clan) had been basically quoted in every Academy book.

( _Harry might not have a big experience with this sort of thing, but he can recognize propaganda_ )

Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes tight- and then his expression relaxed, soft breath escaping him. He forced his hands to go limp, ignoring the sting where his nails cut into his palms. Turning around, he let his feet lead him out of the cemetery. He didn’t venture out beyond the memorial; didn’t even attempt to seek out his parents’ graves. With the disregard displayed in the black marble, he doubted their actual gravestones would be better.

He didn’t even manage to leave the cemetery before a plan of action formulated in his brain.

Harry knew there was no way he would be allowed to demand his kin to be exhumed- they would think his demand too macabre to go through- but that didn’t mean he couldn’t go along with his idea for a funeral pyre. Coldness was inching into the corners of his mind and trying to hook its frozen claws into his heart- but his burning determination didn’t allow himself to be claimed so easily now. He was a man on a mission, and from his talks with Nearly Headless Nick, he knew sometimes, it just needed a token act as a way of honouring.

Besides, there were plenty of personal items left behind in the Uchiha District. If he couldn’t sent off their rightful owners- then, at least, he would make sure their ghosts, their souls, could rest easy knowing that at least something they cherished became one with the flame.

—X—

Even as the burn of determination settled into glowing embers in his heart, Harry didn’t head out to the District right away. For once, he wasn’t _completely_ ready to face it- but honestly, when he will ever be? Still, he thought it better to sit down and lean back, and think about what he wanted to do.

And the best thing was, he even had a logical reason to do so.

The Hokage was an enigma; Harry didn’t know the man well at all, and he doubted he ever will (being a shinobi meant walking in deception, and the boy doubted he will ever have the skill to guess what the old man was thinking)- but what he could _expect_ was that the village leader was waiting on him to do something stupid or foolish-

Like creating a large inferno in the middle of the Uchiha District.

On his way from the cemetery, he made a stop in the stationery shop, buying plenty of empty scrolls and journals to write into. It had been a compulsory buy, something to help him take his mind of the whole load of _fuckery_ going on in his life right now; but as soon as he set them down on his table, he realized he didn’t just have to use them for school or idle scribbling. The thought had flashed through his mind only once before, when he first encountered the shop- but he _longed_ to make some sense of the mess his feelings were right now. He didn’t have anyone to talk to about it- no-one would believe him he was having existential crisis about possessing a seven year old boy.

He also realized, that just because he was no longer speaking English, didn’t mean he _forgot_ it.

It wasn’t _great_ \- as he somewhat feared, his tongue was unused to making the appropriate sounds, and his hands shook as he took his pen to spell out words in unfamiliar letters- but it was still _readable_ to him, still _useful_ \- and most importantly, it gave him connection to his real life- he was still _Harry Potter_ , and he was from _Great Britain_ , and he spoke _English,_ damn it.

Besides, he wished good luck to any spy trying to read his journal- unless, by miracle, they knew English in this world, they had snowball’s chance in hell of cracking this one.

 _‘Nothing makes sense,’_ had been his first sentence, his handwriting _awful_ , barely legible.

(He will have this sentence engraved on his tombstone, he was sure of that; _‘Here lies Harry James Sasuke Uchiha-Potter-Whatever-His-Name-Is; nothing ever made sense to him, the fool.’_ )

His wrist protested the unfamiliar way he was forcing it to bend, muscle memory complaining over wrongness of the whole thing. _‘Most days, everything just seems unreal. Like some kind of fever dream; or a nightmare.’_

_‘I wake up. I get dressed. But it’s like I am just watching someone else get dressed, and that someone doesn’t even blink at walking around barefoot, or eating rice with pair of sticks. Is any of this even real? Have I finally gone mad?’_

He snapped the journal shut after that, uncaring if the wet ink stains the next page _. Malfoy would have get a kick out of all this_ , Harry thought sourly- his old blond nemesis (and what a _ridiculous_ idea that was, _nemesis_ ; Harry had knew since his first year what true enemy looks like, and Malfoy is hardly a fart compared to them. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure if _Voldemort_ could hope to compare himself to the _weasel_ ).

His insides were roiling uncomfortably at the thought of all this not being real. That he was just trapped in some illusion, dancing like a monkey for someone’s amusement; and he could no nothing but hope for the opposite.

He already hard time connecting himself with Sasuke; he didn’t need the crisis of a false world on top of it all.

( _‘You are not mad,’_ Hermione would say, matter-of-factly, Ron nodding along with her _‘And as for this all being illusion- well, you feel pain, don’t you?’_ )

( _‘Pain can be faked though,’_ he couldn’t help but think at that, unsurprised at the lack of response to that.)

Besides pouring his fractured rambling all over the pages, he used the journals in other ways as well. Attempted to sketch and draw the horizon of the village, in hopes of finding some sort of inner peace- he failed miserably at that, but the sketches weren’t that awful. He also made some resemblance of a ‘to do’ list.

_1; Honour the dead._

_2; Get new clothes._

_3; Learn to cook._

_4; Survive the academy._

He had put down ‘5’, almost automatically, but the tip of his pen stilled over the page, just hovering. Harry stared at the number with unseeing eyes, indecisive; it wasn’t something he had _wanted_ to add to the page, but the Want made his throat tighten and the corners of his eyes burn. Blinking, he shakily brought down the pen on the page, and with shoddy penmanship added his final goal:

_5; Find way home._

He stared at the phrase for a long time- long enough for the ink to completely dry, and only then he closed his eyes. He didn’t know how possible the goal was; since he had no evidence of magic existing, it could be slim to none. But he _had_ to get here somehow (he refused to entertain the thought of being reborn; that would imply he had _died_ in the first place) and if anyone could stumble into powerful magical transportation spell of some sort, it would be Harry.

His journal also proved to be convenient way of sketching out what the pyre should look like.

Sasuke had been very young when he attended the funeral, and while some impressions of it couldn’t be forgotten, Harry just couldn’t recall _how_ the pyre had been built. From wood, obviously; But he didn’t want to make just a haphazard looking bonfire and call it a day.

No- he wanted to dress it up. Wanted red and silver on top, wanted the uchiwas hanging from the sides. Since there were no bodies, he wanted it to look like ceremonial table or a pedestal, like something similar to the ones in a church. Harry seen it only once; he had been maybe four, and Aunt Petunia deemed him old enough to attend the Sunday services.

It was his first and last visit; she had gave him horrendous haircut beforehand, in attempt to make him presentable, and while inside, his hair started to grow back in at alarming pace. Aunt Petunia noticed it and with a pale furious face jammed Dudley’s hat over Harry’s head.

He couldn’t remember what happened after, but since then he always spent Sunday mornings locked up in his cupboard, well until his 11th birthday.

But he figured it deserved that kind of ‘ceremonial’.

—X—

Of course, it still took him one more day before he found himself standing at the entrance to his former home. Fortified by the meal from Ichiraku and from his own stubbornness, he stared at the yellow police tape warning trespasser away from the scene, pursing his lips in attempt to keep their trembling to minimum.

It was hardly late; Harry choose to hasten his usual visit to the ramen bar, going for early lunch instead of late dinner- mainly because he wasn’t sure how long it will take him to set everything up. Summer was in full swing in this part of Elemental Countries, so he had good chunk of daylight left; plenty of time for untrained seven year old, let alone for ninja.

With him, he packed not a bento (his skill of cooking wasn’t quite there yet) but definitely something he could view as a food box; rice and eggs and cut vegetables on the side. He didn’t plan to stay longer than until the morning of the next day- he had a great long thought about it, and figured the torment of the Uchiha clan should be left behind in the abandoned compound.

Still, he took a deep steadying breath, trying to convince himself to take the first step forward. The entrance- the gate that used to be bathed in light by nearby lanterns- gave the impression of a ravenous beast, the grass around it giving it an image of a fang filled maw, a pit that lead to an endless void, from which there was no escape. There was complete silence- and Harry couldn’t just connect it to the memories of a bustling and lively place, where (despite greater lack of laughs) he always felt welcomed and the streets of the compound radiated warmth, like basking in front of the big fireplace that had been the centre of the Gryffindor common room.

His feet felt leaden- but he finally started walking forward.

The silence was eerie; only the yellow tape fluttered weakly in the almost non-existent breeze, already torn in places- either by the effects of the environment, or by some daring would-be-adventures, too young to understand the true extent of tragedy that happened in this place.

The walk felt like it lasted an eternity; the gate seemed to change as he got near, looming maliciously over his shivering frame, beams of sunlight seeping through the cracks of it giving illusion of a mocking glare, daring him to take another step. Any other day, he wouldn’t have- but his mission _burned_ deep inside him and so he ignored the echo of what he perceived as laughter ( _wind, it was just wind_ ) taking a deep breath as he came to a stop after he passed it.

He knew the Hokage said the place had been repaired, but... Harry still expected to see some sort of evidence of the destruction and crime that happened here.

And there was just... none.

What boards and shoji walls had been broken or torn before, were in pristine condition; window glass had been replaced, shattered flower pots replaced for new ones. As if nothing violent had happened- as if the former inhabitants just up and left, never even looking back. And Harry immediately _hated_ it- the closer he got to the houses, the more oppressive the air seemed to get; a thrumming, vengeful sort of feeling, making the hair at the back of his hair rise.

His heart was loud in his ears, and beat so hard his chest hurt from it. It was a stupid question to ask if he believed in ghosts- especially as he spent four years in a castle full of them- but even if he didn’t, the sheer _negativity_ of this place would have convinced him that they were very much real.

But even ghost didn’t give him this sort of feeling (well, only the chillness that seemed to grip him to his very bones was somewhat accurate). No- if he would have ventured a guess, this seemed like something other.

And echo of the Uchiha clan suffering, restless from both the murder, and the disregard for everything they stood for.

 _‘Would me building the pyre even help?’_ he couldn’t help but ask himself, shivering and clutching the strap of his pack closer.

 _‘Can’t do anything else but try,’_ Inner-Ron murmured back.

 _‘You can’t make it worse.’_ Added Inner-Hermione, soft sympathy in her voice.

( _He knew it wasn’t healthy, talking to himself. If anything, that would definitely land him a visit in the Konoha Mental Ward. But he couldn’t bring himself to give it up so easily._ )

Almost by accident, his feet took him to the steps of his- Sasuke’s- old house. He just stood there, rooted to the spot, breathing turning harsh and uneven, as he stared up at the familiar door. It looked intact- as if he was simply coming home from long day of training, ravenous from the effort; rushing through the doorway with a cheerful ‘tadaima!’. As if his mother was simply waiting around the corner of the hallway, just bringing the meal to the table, her pretty face warming up with loving smile.

He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head sharply. He had no time for memories of the past- he had even less interest in experiencing them. Instead he held his breath for several seconds, attempting to get it under control- and only when it calmed down enough, he dared to go in.

It seemed wrong to find out the door opened without the need of a key. It brought back the illusion of the home being occupied- but Harry knew it was empty. The dust that blew away from the hallway with the breeze that came with him only proved that.

There was no blood; not anymore. But his nose itched with the lingering scent of copper, causing tears to spring in his eyes- and as he walked into the living room, his gaze strayed to the ground, where he had, the first time, seen his parents’ bodies.

They were gone, obviously- but the floor there was a shade darker, and Harry realized with a sickening feeling that the blood seeped into the floor enough to do that.

He forcefully clasped hand over his nose and closed his eyes again, breathing deeply through his mouth, gasping violently for breath. It took him longer to snap out of it this time than the first time around, though thankfully he didn’t have the urge to be sick.

But this was an important test; how could he hope to go into the houses of other people, when he couldn’t even handle his own house?

(‘ _It has nothing to do with handling it,’_ Inner-Hermione whispered to him sadly, but this time Harry ignored it.)

It was... hard, going into his parents’ bedroom. But if there was any place they would keep their belongings, it was there.

It was even harder going in and then seeing it frozen at the exact point in time they left it- and Harry shook as he trailed fingers across the folded blanket, exhaling at the feel of dust.

It felt undeserving, this grief. After all, as much as he pretended to be at the moment, Harry wasn’t Mikoto’s and Fugaku’s son. But Sasuke’s memories were painfully present, making him remember snuggling with them in the bed when he had been terrified of a monster under bed- or remember time when his mother sat with him on the covers and brushed his hair.

It was easy to find Mikoto’s personal item. She had told him about it before- a finely decorated comb with neat little swirls that was always placed in the bowl set on the dresser. She had told him it was a precious gift from precious friend; and Harry brushed his thumbs over the engravings before carefully put it on the bed.

Fugaku has been harder; Harry, naturally, didn’t know him- but even Sasuke knew basically nothing about the man, as in his memories his father had been rather distant, and the boy felt always a bit intimidated. Fugaku rarely talked, and was always rather stern- and at the same time clearly valued his privacy.

There was one thing though, that caught his attention when he was slowly looking through every drawer and looked into every closet. It was an obi; the fabric soft and colourful, decorated with little silver dragons, flying through crimson and orange cloudy sky.

The red made his stomach churn- but it helped to focus on the design rather than the colour.

Harry knew this sash; Fugaku always wore it whenever situation demanded it, and he was aware it had belonged to the man’s father- Sasuke’s grandfather- and possibly to the grandfather before that. Reluctance started to war inside him; the obi had been a precious heirloom for at least two generations, and Harry remembered the great care Fugaku took in keeping it in pristine condition. It seemed like a travesty to burn it- its stitching was master artisan level, the fabric never losing its shine.

But it meant it fit the description of close personal item, and so Harry reverently took it out- placing the comb on it- and walked out of the room, clutching both items to his chest.

He passed _weasel’s_ door without a single look.

—X—

The day passed slowly.

He had been aware that the clan counted well over hundred people, but- it didn’t quite sink in, until he started going from door to door, entering house after house. It was exhausting- and guts wrenching. Each home gave a story about the family that lived there; pictures were set on their spots on shelves; little collectibles decorated the table of the owner.

True emotional agony came from entering a room and finding a worn, obviously well loved plush toy, settled on the pillow, as if forever waiting for the child to return home. The nurseries were even worse.

It made him _hate_ the _weasel_ ; hate him for the innocent lives cruelly snuffed out, for the loss of those who weren’t able even comprehend what was happening. And Harry wept- how could he not? He didn’t stop his grief for the children who did nothing besides existing, little dreamers; brave knights and pretty princesses, fearless heroes and curious adventures.

He had walked into the small temple of Amaterasu his clan had on grounds and with a bow and with a silent apology took one of the tapestries depicting her dark orange sun over silverly clouds.

It was on this tapestry- laid out on gently on the porch of his former house- that the personal items slowly started to gather. Combs, similar to his mother’s; wooden hair pins and beaded necklaces; smoking pipes and brush sets; blankets and toys. There were tiny statues of animals- ones Harry found entirely by accident, tiny foxes kept a secret, inari lucky charms and carvings; and then curled dragons and roaring tigers- all associated with fire, all with strength. There were simple lockets- and in it a pictures of loved ones, bracelets where each wooden bead had names of the family.

Harry arranged everything quietly on the re-purposed tapestry, and then leaned back, just looking.

He had been finding other things as well, in his search.

Seven year old Sasuke probably wouldn’t have noticed- but Harry has always been rather good at noticing little details. Strange irregularity to the shelved books; journals where the author seemed to stop writing after a certain day, never to pick the pen again.

Books were missing. Scrolls too. The diaries of certain clan members had removed pages that dated years before the massacre.

If it was an attempt at a cover-up, it was either a piss poor one- or they were in a rush.

Trouble was, Harry couldn’t even begin to guess _who_ did it.

Was it _weasel_? Had the books and journals have a something he didn’t want to get out? Or was it the village? For similar reasons?

Whatever it was, Harry shelved it in the back of his mind in the ‘suspicious’ category. Now, sadly, wasn’t the time to solve mysteries or conspiracies- however his interest was piqued and he won’t forget it any time soon.

 _‘You never do,’_ Inner-Hermione sounded half-exasperated, half-fond, and Harry couldn’t help but give a brittle smile, turning inward towards the illusion.

 _‘Pot calling kettle black,’_ he mused, heart aching as he wished he could say it for real. He mentally encouraged Inner-Ron join the banter and relaxed when he felt him ‘stir’.

 _‘Both like two peas in a pod,’_ his voice responded dryly _‘And leaving me to remind you to eat bloody something.’_

Food sounded like excellent idea. In fact, as soon as it had been mentioned, his stomach grumbled loudly, protesting at the lack of sustenance. His ‘friends’ faded as he reached for his food box, cracking it open and grimacing at the first bite. His rice with egg wasn’t all that great on a best of days- it tasted even worse cold. But the taste wasn’t important- getting fed was, and so Harry started eating anyway, sitting down on the porch next to the tapestry, leaning back against his house’s walls.

It was already mid afternoon; and he didn’t even start building the pyre next. He knew he didn’t have much time; as much as he wished for the flame to go up at night that would only attract attention of the whole village. No, he rather do it at time when it would take them a minute to realize something is going on- and by the time, the fire would have burn long enough for the traditions to be realized in full.

There was no issue in getting lumber for the pyre- there was always a good reserve of it at the back of the temple, exactly for funeral needs. It was also rather easy to slowly carry out the exact amount he needed (Harry decided, after much thought, that he won’t try doing anything crazy; even if the pyre was high only to his knees, it would be enough; his goal was after all to honour the traditions as best he could, and this counted in that.)- building it was another matter all together.

In the end, the result was... not bad, but not exactly fancy either.

He lingered at the edges of his pyre, indecisive and anxious; his plan now was to transfer all the items to the pyre and cover them with the tapestry; it was as close to ceremonial garb as he could get- as close to the red and silver as he was _willing_ to go.

(Red was still an issue. He mourned it, the loss of comfort in the colour; Sasuke’s own world has been bathed in comforting warmth crimson, but Harry, right now, only saw death in it.)

But.

His gaze strayed to the empty sides and the boy shuddered- he knew the Uchiha crest _needs_ to go there.

Harry’s eyes reluctantly strayed towards every lamp standing in the compound.

The true funeral pyres have special clan symbols made only for the purpose to be burned; but Harry doesn’t have the luxury. His only hope are the tiny wooden cut outs, hanging from the streetlamps simply for decoration- they were the exact size that would have fit the sides of the pyre, and already had nifty ropes for easy assembly.

He had been doing admirable job of ignoring all the Uchiha symbols, so far. Even thought he could tell that even those were repaired, every time his gaze strayed to once, he felt the familiar churn of nausea- weaker, not as sharp as at the time of the incident at his apartment- but still, undoubtedly there. He couldn’t help but see them as they were that night; with great cracks running through the middle, almost shattered, barely holding together in one piece.

He sensed he could make a good metaphor there, if he really tried.

Still, he managed to gather himself together, and _keep_ himself that way long enough to scale few lamps to untie the symbols. They didn’t look too fancy from up close; they were never meant to be anything but simple street sign, and indication in which territory one was walking.

He hoped the dead wouldn’t mind.

As he continued his pyre preparation, he could call the labour almost peaceful. The terrible oppressive atmosphere that had been nipping at his heels ever since he entered the district seemed to ease up- not gone completely, the air still felt _too_ chilly- but it was as if the bitterness and anger seeped into every corner of the District... softened, somewhat.

And continued to soften, eventually letting the sunlight peeking over the rooftops to warm him up, while he gently started placing each salvaged personal item on the pyre, making sure families were kept together, mothers and fathers angled over their children. He hesitated, before placing Mikoto’s comb and Fugaku’s obi in the middle of it all. They were the leading family, after all; essentially, heart of the Uchiha clan. No matter Harry’s turmoil over his place with them, he would always think this is where they should be. Then, as the final touch, he draped the tapestry over it all, finishing the touch.

Taking a deep breath, he then stepped back to take a good long look at his work.

It wasn’t the best; trying to compare it to the grand funerals in Sasuke’s memories, one could say he most certainly failed.

But that wasn’t the point.

Harry, whenever he wanted it or not, was the last Uchiha now. And only and Uchiha could honour the Clan the way they deserved.

His kin- Sasuke’s kin- has been cut from pride, serious and unmoving like mountain. But he hoped they would respect his commitment to give them at least this- to help them become one with the flame at least spiritually.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and focused.

He had been thinking, of course, over how to light the pyre. The clan priests knew a special katon jutsu just for this purposes (never to be used on anything else, never to be used in battle)- but Harry, Sasuke, didn’t know where to seek its scroll. Doubted it even has one.

Because of the sharingan, Uchiha’s taught jutsus orally; passing it down as rites of passage, and the priests were no different. Why would they need to keep anything written, when thanks to their eyes, they remembered it to perfect detail?

But he couldn’t just use matches; that felt disrespectful.

So his Gokakyu was the only option.

Of course, nothing with the word ‘great’ in the name ever means good.

He drew in another breath.

But he _wants_ to use the technique. It’s just so characteristically _Uchiha_ that using anything else would make the whole message of the pyre... less powerful.

Harry exhaled.

Ever since he returned, he didn’t do anything with his chakra. Didn’t even noticed it- because it felt so natural to possess it, there was nothing to notice really- until he truly started paying attention to it. It didn’t feel alien; far from it, actually. It was only thanks to Sasuke’s memories of being able to wield it that he started feeling it; bubbling and empowering, crackling through his veins like a bonfire- or maybe like lighting current.

He brought his hands to a snake seal.

He didn’t rush it, his eyes still closed, as he went through the chain, peaceful, tranquil- taking a deep breath, and feeling his lungs filling with chakra. Finally, ending on tiger, he brought his fingers to his lips-

And exhaled.

There was no grand fireball; there wasn’t even the loud rush of a continuous stream of fire. The flames that escaped him were almost golden in their colour- edging into white at parts. It spread out of him slowly, and slowly fell on the ready pyre like a heavy blanket, coating each part with molten gold. And Harry continued to exhale until no part of the pyre was still untouched by flame-

And only then he released the jutsu and gasped for breath, sweaty and shaking, falling to his knees as his legs buckled under him.

He could do nothing but press his forehead to the ground, eyes squeezed shut and waiting for the world to stop swimming, while the golden glow from early slowly disappeared, turning orange of a normal flame. The wood cracked and groaned, and the fabric of the tapestry slowly curled, thread by thread, lighting up the picture of the sun from underneath.

It was only then that he was able to drag himself into a sitting position to watch the pyre burn. And only then, when he dared to speak.

“I don’t- I don’t have any speech prepared,” he forced his tongue to work with the (to this body) unfamiliar language. English didn’t come easy- his accent was heavy, foreign, but Harry wanted to talk about things that he didn’t want to be overheard by anyone else. “Truthfully- I don’t even know what I am _doing_.”

“But... You are.. Sasuke’s family. ...My family.” He swallowed, his mouth feeling dry. His cheeks were warm- almost too much, if he were honest- but he didn’t move from his position.

“I won’t go after Itachi,” He finally admitted heavily “And- and maybe you would disapprove, because I know, if Sasuke remained as he was-“ The boy sighs, closing his eyes briefly for a moment.

“...I am not Sasuke. I saw how hate and revenge makes one feel- makes one act. I don’t want to go that path.”

If Mikoto and Fugaku really loved their son, they wouldn’t want this life for him.

“If- if in the future, my path crosses with his- maybe, I might try... In self defence.” He shook his head. “I won’t seek him out. He doesn’t deserve my attention- or my recognition.”

He sunk slightly in his spot, feeling exhausted.

“...I don’t know what future will bring,” Harry finally whispered “I just- I just want to live life _for me_ , at least once- is that too much to ask?”

 _‘Am I destined to always be an instrument in some sort of war?’_ he couldn’t say aloud, fearing the answer.

 _‘No.’_ Inner-Hermione told him gently and he closed his eyes, silent tears escaping as his heart ached to have her beside him, both of them.

 _‘You are still just a kid,’_ Inner-Ron finished softly _‘If anyone deserves a bloody break, it’s you.’_

His breath hitched as their voices faded from his mind, and a brittle laugh escaped him. He really went mad. Clinging to unrealistic expectations, foolishly hoping something will change.

Shaking, he pressed him palms to his closed eyes, gritting his teeth as indescribable emotion ran through him like a knife, cutting deep and making feel as if he was bleeding.

Before he could even hope to comprehend it, however- something _strange_ was happening.

The roar of the flame quieted- the flames that danced and swirled slowed to almost _unnatural_ stillness- but Harry felt nothing malicious from it.

With wonder, he watched as the pyre spat up embers- like tiny shooting stars- and the live coals hovered in the air longer than he would expect, before hitting the ground with a soft crackling, shooting up sparks like the tiniest firework.

He scrambled to his feet, breathing fast, eyes wide. More and more embers started hitting the ground, sparkling, glittering- but slowly filling the area with smoke, covering the ground and hiding the nearby buildings from his view- eventually hiding the sun and leaving him stand in darkness.

But it wasn’t like he was in a smoke and all; he couldn’t smell anything, he could still breath, and the darkness felt more like dusk- waiting for sun to fall and for the stars to come out.

And come out they did.

Harry could only hold his breath and watch as the embers slowly stopped falling- in fact, stopped in midair, still burning and crackling orange- until they started to hover and rise, each little coal turning on its axis, the glow getting brighter and brighter- and then turning from orange to gold.

Gold like the sun- gold like the flames he used to light up the pyre. And they never stopped rising, filling the darkened skies with hundreds of little lights, looking like hundreds of stars, like hundreds of-

“-Lanterns!” Harry gasped to himself, unable to keep the realization silent “They look like lanterns!”

Little golden suns- one for each fallen, one for each life lost. Representing, what Harry could only hope, the spirits of a person lost- and taking on the image of a metaphorical lantern, finishing the ceremony. He couldn’t do anything but stand there in shock, confused, dumbfounded- but awed all the same, as he watched the little lights slowly but surely disappear into the void the smoke provided- the souls ferried on.

Eventually, the last faded, and the remaining darkness started creeping closer and closer.

Harry, however, was not afraid; and as soon as he had trouble seeing at the tip of his nose, he just closed his eyes, and exhaled.

Then, he knew nothing.

—X—

_“They say he’s gone. I don’t believe it. Do you?”_

_The table is covered in parchment. Nearby, a candle is flickering, the knot too low, flame nearly extinguished._

_Neither notice._

_“I don’t. Some of them don’t either. But others just see the curse and remember what it does and say that’s it- forgetting it wasn’t him who got cursed. And I won’t stop until I prove that that difference matters.”_

—X—

Harry opens his eyes.

For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was, and how he got there- then he sat up and looked around, taking in the bleached colours of the Uchiha District.

It was morning.

He blinked slowly, casting his gaze in the centre of the street. Where his pyre burned the day before, only smouldering ashes remained.

Harry exhaled slowly.

The air smelled fresh, with hint of smoke. There was gentle mist rolling around; it must have rained a little in the night; not enough to drag him into wakefulness, and not long enough for him to remain wet. But there was dew glistening on the leaves in the grass and shrubbery, giving the illusion of glitter.

The boy shook his head and slowly dragged himself to his feet, taking a deep breath again. Looking up, he took in the sight of the clouds rolling in the sky and felt... peaceful.

Not happy, but... content. Comfortable for once.

He looked towards the remains of the pyre again.

Harry didn’t know what happened last night; perhaps everything he saw was simply an illusion, conjured by his half-mad mind- or maybe it was chakra exhaustion speaking.

Whatever it was, it seemed there was still some sort of magic present in the world. As the atmosphere in the District was no longer heavy; there were suddenly sounds of bugs and the song of birds, where before there was just frigid silence.

Absently, he patted down his shirt, pulling a face at the slight dampness he felt. Before he could even think about it, his gaze strayed towards his former house.

Well. He did plan to get more clothes.

Walking through the house now, felt less horrible and more nostalgic than before. It was like following the rites and letting his Clan join with the flame, he let them take away something from his as well. He felt... cleansed.

It felt almost natural to walk into his old room and open the clothes drawer, looking over the shirts. Mostly black, but... there was one that caught his attention immediately.

Dove grey, almost blue in certain light; Harry recognized the shirt from one of Sasuke’s memories. His mother gave it to him, but he never wore it, preferring dark blues to darker even.

Harry thinks it will make a nice change from the past.

It was clearly custom made; the fabric was soft and the cut fit him well; baggy enough for him to grow into later. He breathed deep- the Uchiha crest on his back seemed like a brand, but for the first time, the thought of wearing it didn’t hurt.

Packing up the rest of his clothes didn’t take a minute; there was a travel pack in the corner, bigger than the one he came with, that offered more space- he managed to pack not only clothing but his books and scrolls as well; personal items from _before_.

It won’t be the last time he will return to the District- but he wants it to be the last time for him to be in this room. Only ghost of a long gone boy lives there, and Harry wants him to stay there- to slowly fade away with the past. He soon walked out of his former home and let the front door close with faint click.

As he walked past the gate, he stopped on the threshold to look back one last time.

First morning rays now shone on the abandoned houses and streets, giving a sense of slowly healing wound. It had bled, it was infected- but now it has been cleaned and started to scab over. It will take a while before it was completely gone, and whatever remained will scar, most likely.

The Uchiha Clan was now arguably extinct- with one survivor being a child and the other a murderer (Had Harry the power to disown him, he would have done so, if only in name). The boy doesn’t know what to expect in the future, but so far none of his plans contains anything remotely close to restoring the Clan.

He had honoured the dead- now, it was time to focus on harder task:

How to handle the Academy- and most importantly, how to handle his peers.

Speaking of which...

His walk came to a stop, and his attention was turned toward Ramen Ichiraku. Once again, there were no customers- but then again, it was pretty early, so he was sure Teuchi was just preparing for the first lunch rush. He hesitated only for a moment, before he turned on the spot and walked in, gaining the chef’s attention as soon as he appeared.

“Ah, Sasuke-kun!” the man shot him a grin, the expression turning a bit apologetic as he continued stirring his large pot. “Somewhat early for your regular, isn’t it? Nothing is done yet, I’m afraid.”

“I will come in later,” Harry promised “But this isn’t about that. Naruto... does he comes by often? Even if he can’t afford to buy?”

Teuchi blinked and hummed, looking at him for a quick minute in silence. When he decided Harry wasn’t planning anything malicious, he slowly nodded.

“Ah. Likes to say hi from time to time. Asks after Ayame- my daughter,” he specified at the boy’s questioning look “She’s just about to finish school and come help me in my bar. Naruto is very excited for her.”

Harry nodded back, pausing- and then he pulled out his wallet, counting out several bills.

“He wouldn’t have accepted it from me,” he rushed to say when he saw Teuchi’s eyes widening, the chef about to ask what he was doing “With the rivalry going and so on but- take it.”

He pushed the bills forward on the counter- enough to hopefully feed a starving boy over the course of next two weeks.

“I got money,” he continues, interrupting Teuchi’s starting protests “I got- I got too much of it. And this way- this way it will go to a good use, to some who needs it.”

Harry didn’t know Naruto at all- to Sasuke, he just been a moron, a deadlast; a clown and a prankster, with no common sense whatsoever and too loud. But Harry doesn’t need to know Naruto to decide this is the right decision to make.

The ramen chef just continues staring, before his eyes suspiciously glistens and he smiles.

“You are a good kid, Sasuke-kun.” He told the dark haired boy gently, voice turning sorrowful “I am sorry for your loss.”

Harry’s throat tightened. In all honesty, he couldn’t remember if anyone told him that- ever. In this life, or in his first one.

“Thanks.” He croaked before shaking his head, motioning towards the money. “Take it.”

“I will make sure he gets it,” Teuchi promised him, pocketing the money “But- what should I tell him? He knows any meal he gets here isn’t for free.”

“Tell him,” Harry murmured “That it’s from a friend.”

Anyone could use more of those- even stubborn little blond haired rivals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride phew. I think I need to stress I dont think Sarutobi is secretly evil- he's just an old man dealing with lots of shit. Doesn't help he is feeling guilty for the Uchiha Massacre, and Harry is just too much of a wounded animal right now to trust anything the man does. Was if right of the Sandaime to bury the Uchiha? Probably not- but when you think about it in cold facts, they had all of them in the morgue, and they, sadly, needed that morgue empty.


End file.
